


Fearless

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Camping, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, First Date, First Time, First time porn, Gen, Genderfluid Sam, Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pining, Plotty, Porn, Religion, Romantic Dean, Sam and Dean are not related, Sam-Centric, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-10-06 15:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 63
Words: 97,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10337398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: When 15-year-old artist Sam relocates from DC to small town Kansas, culture shock is inevitable, especially considering that Sam is gender non-binary. But some experiences no one could have predicted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a highly renovated version of a previously incomplete story.  
> It's all written now (90K words). I'll be posting chapters as they're edited.  
> Thanks in advance for any feedback.
> 
> PS: A comment just reminded me to add that this story was inspired by a political movement and a song.  
> Initially, I put together a scene for the Pussyhat Drabbles, after a conversation on whether fic can be a force for social change. This was around the time the current administration reverted laws prohibiting transpeople from using the restroom that matches their gender.  
> I'd also just finished reading the fullofsugar!verse by Hellhoundsprey, so I knew I wanted to play with a more gender-fluid Sam.  
> Finally, the teen girl in my life was a huge Taylor Swift at 15, so I know this album, Fearless, way better than may be cool in some circles. 
> 
> Here's the title song. Listen after the fireworks scene. Did my best to capture this feeling.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptSjNWnzpjg

[ ](https://imgur.com/2YDLpFw)

“Come on, Sam. There’s got to be more than that.”

I dropped the last sticky dime into my mother’s palm and tried to wipe the residue onto the passenger seat upholstery. We’d been on the road for under four hours and I already wanted to brain her.

“That’s it,” I said. “You can check for yourself.”

Mary Campbell was not a woman to be trifled with. My snark earned a warning glare: ‘you, my child, are treading on thin ice.’

How much foraging under car seats was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stomach her fingering the change, like a little old lady, counting pennies under her breath. We weren’t even out of cash yet. She was worrying about nothing, like always.

While Mom trudged inside to pay for gas in coins, I popped in my earbuds. A smelly spurt of gas landed on my favorite Chucks and I turned my ankle to examine the damage. There was nothing to do but be pissed. Washing them might destroy the acrylic butterflies and lizards I’d puffy painted on the canvas.

I sucked my teeth and fed the nozzle into the tank: male into female. My dad had a thousand dumb jokes about that, but thoughts of him were contraband, so I shut them down.

Taylor Swift’s voice whisked me away from Dad’s predicament, Mom’s worry, our dwindling funds, and whatever waited in Kansas. While she sang, there was nothing in the world but late April sunlight glowing red behind my eyelids. The music was so loud, I couldn’t even hear my own crappy voice, so I sang out and swayed my hips.

My fingers cramped from squeezing the pump and I switched hands, nodding to the rhythm, smiling as my hair swung into my face.

'Cause when you're fifteen,  
Somebody tells you they love you  
You're gonna believe them  
And when you're fifteen  
Feeling like there's nothing to figure out

The pump clicked finished as a gaggle of lunch ladies and fat guys in cargo shorts rushed for ringside seats of my mother slugging some trucker’s face. His Freedom Eagle cap flew from the guy’s greasy head and wafted to the pavement in slow motion. He stumbled back with a hand on his jaw.

“Crazy bitch. What the hell is your problem?”

“That is a child, you sicko,” my mother screeched. “Don’t you fucking look at him.”

“Him?”

The hairs on my neck pricked, crotch flooded with unintentional warmth as Freedom Eagle squinted, dissecting first my face, then my exposed legs.

“‘Him? That’s a boy?”

For the record, I’m not. I kept waiting for my mother to correct him while every eye in that parking lot bored into me.

“Don’t you look at him.” My mother repeated as cruel heat pooled in the pit of my gut.

Never mind that my mother didn’t know me. I didn’t even have a mother at that moment. Mary Campbell-Cohen had morphed into a senseless, green rage monster: the kind that growls, lowers its head and charges as if the blonde bangs are concealing horns.

A burly man lunged from the crowd and pinned her arms. He hardly budged as she snarled and strained like a rabid chipmunk.

“Get off her!”

The words flew from my mouth as I spat out my flavorless gum, dropped the gas hose and assaulted my mother’s attacker with a barrage of vicious punches.

The only thing that landed was me: ass on concrete, pulse pounding in my ears while strangers blinked down with sluggish amusement.

My mother knelt at my side, anger receded into her customary brow-furrowed concern.

“You ought to call the cops, man,” Burly suggested to my mother’s victim.

My heart slammed into my ribs. All I needed was both parents in prison.

Freedom Eagle touched the hem of his filthy Whitesnake t-shirt to his bleeding lip and retrieved his cap from the asphalt and shook his head. “Nah. Fuck ‘em.”

The parking lot audience dispersed as he turned back toward his puke-colored pickup. I started to breathe again.

My mother offered to help, but I planted my hands on the hot, oily ground, steadying jellied arms. Before my feet were under me, Freedom Eagle turned on his heels and spat a slimy wad of bloody phlegm onto my left cheek.

“Nasty freak.”

***

“I told you to get rid of those shorts.”

That was the first thing my mother said after the truckers and nosy senior citizens had cleared like the Mars, Pennsylvania dust.

I was a phone call away from becoming a prison orphan, and this crazy woman was thinking about my clothes.

I fingered the fraying denim over my thigh. The shorts were skin-tight remnants of yesteryear’s favorite jeans. Snug, but still comfortable although I’d grown 5 inches since then. I lifted my ass to tug the fray closer to my knees.

Mom glared until I adjusted the low-hanging collar of my lilac blouse to reveal less shoulder.

I got it. My fault. And I deserved worse than some prick hocking a loogie on my face.  
She should have sold me to a convent or chosen abortion. Her life would be better without me.

“Should I change?”

Grey sweatpants and a hoodie would've been appropriate. Or a hazmat suit. I gnawed on my right thumbnail.

My mother’s eyes flicked at me, but she spared the usual condemnation for my filthy habit. Instead, she sucked in a loud breath. Trembling, she clutched the wheel at 10 and 2. How could she still be so upset? Nobody spat on her.

The stink of sweat and gasoline had subsided, but the air was thick with some other awful thing that wouldn’t blow away through all four open windows.

“Do you like that?”

This was one of those questions that meant I should stay quiet.

“You like it when they look at you like that?” she asked. “You must.”

I didn’t hate it like she did. I couldn’t understand why anyone would look at my cheesy-pale, camel legs, but it didn’t bother me.

“It’s hot.”

“It’s not that hot, Sam.”

It was a warm spring, and I always overheated, no matter what I wore.  
“And what the hell is that shirt?”

Mom yanked at my sleeve, exposing a shoulder again.

It was one of my cutest original pieces, designed and sewn the previous summer, still over-sized despite the relentless growth spurting. Back when I turned 11, somebody spiked my milk with Skele-grow, but my mother didn’t seem to notice that I was six inches taller than she was.

“Why do you even still have that? I told you to get rid of all the girl stuff.”

“It’s not girl stuff, Mom.”

I nibbled the last remaining nugget of cuticle.

“You’re telling me you think a boy would wear that?”

The men’s and women’s, boy’s and girl’s departments in stores make it seem like there’s some dress code from on high. That’s why I designed my own clothes. If I ever opened a boutique, there would be one section: human. And people can pick whatever they like.

“Did you bring anything decent?”

I folded my arms. “I should be able to wear whatever I want.”

Should girls around the world fry at the stake every time some creep gets distracted by cut-off jeans?

The tires rumbled and screeched onto the side of the road so Mom could aim the full brunt of her fury on me. “You have not been listening to a single word I’ve said.”

“I’m not scared of them, Mom.”

“Because you’re stupid.”

Not her most tactful response, but this relocation was morphing her into someone I’d never met. She punched the steering wheel, then dropped her face onto it.

“I’m sorry.” For existing and being this.

My mother’s eyes were an even prettier sapphire when they were damp.

“Sammy, you are not going to Kansas to be a pioneer. You are not going to open people’s minds and become a martyr. You will be a boy, day in and day out. You will fit in, or someone will hurt you. And I don’t mean a chipped tooth. I mean really hurt you, Sam.”

My tongue traced my cracked tooth, courtesy of Justin Ostmeir, who in sixth grade thought it would be awesome to shove me into a bleacher. It was the first and only time anybody ever called me a fag. Since there were no witnesses, Justin and I were both suspended for three days. My parents never sent me back to school.

Mom’s clammy palm smoothed over my cheek making my nose prickle. I didn’t want to sit on the side of the road in Pennsylvania, crying with my mother, so I shoved her hand away.

She pulled back onto the highway and drove a while in blessed silence.

“I need you to take this seriously, Sam. Your grandfather won’t mean to be an asshole.”

Here it was again. I rolled my eyes and turned to watch the nothing fly past my grimy window.

“He was just raised in a different era and place.”

Various versions of this speech had been on repeat ever since she decided we had to move.

“Treat him like he’s from a galaxy --”

“Far, far away. Mom, I know.”

“And the same thing goes for—”

“Everybody in town. I will treat them all like aliens, Mom.”

“No. That’s how they’re going to treat you, baby.”

“I don’t care.” I mostly meant it.

The only thing that sucked was knowing nobody would ever love me the way my dad loved her unless I could figure out how to be normal. But that was a future problem, not a Kansas problem.  
I wouldn’t be there long.

“You know, we could keep going. All the way to Cali, like we always said. Don’t you want to anymore?”

“Maybe someday, Sam,” Mom said, changing lanes. “When we have the money.”

My mom had a gift for the tragic smile, but her worry was wasted on me. I could keep my head down and survive a few miserable months of school. At the end of the summer, I’d get into Interlochen Fine Arts Academy. The application was already in. They had to accept me.

I’d already dreamed of a magnificent city, with fascinating people, platinum towers - all with a sinking-soaring sensation of floating or falling. I’d never touch the ground in Kansas. Either Interlochen would offer me a full scholarship, or I would do the world’s most elegant swan dive off the highest building in Oskaloosa.


	2. Chapter 2

I blinked awake in the empty car under more stars than I’d ever seen. Beyond the passenger door,  
a mob of small-town creatures shrieked and clicked. A shiver crawled over my skin.

Pickup truck. Tiny, white house. The front door opened and my mother’s silhouette broke the dull light. So, this was the final destination. 

She bounced down the steps and knocked on my window. I could have turned the key and wound it down, but I didn’t move. When she opened my door, I gripped the handle and slammed it shut. 

“Sam. What are you…” 

It was immature, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Mom walked toward the driver’s side and I engaged the power locks. She stopped, hands on her hips.

“Fine. Sleep in the car.”

I considered it, but the lesser terror was to cross the twenty feet of darkness between car and house. I climbed over the seat, loaded up backpack, suitcase and sewing machine before I braved the night, running like mad and banging on the front door. 

A moth the size of my hand flew into my face and I screamed at the exact moment a stern-faced, bald man opened the door. He looked more like an executioner than somebody’s grandfather. 

There was no old-people pee smell. Only plum-paisley wallpaper, which would also offend my senses until I learned to ignore it.

“Sam, this is your Grampa Campbell.” 

The old man stared like he’d never seen a whatever I was. 

He didn’t try to hug me like I’d been fearing. His snare gave the impression he’d sooner kick me back down the steps or pull one of those long, antique-looking guns from the wall and empty it in my chest.

My mother nudged me with her elbow. I cleared my throat and set down my sewing machine so we could shake. The old man glanced at my hand without consenting to touch it. 

His eyes widened at my most prized possession. Then he strolled from the room.

Screw you too, old man.

My mom echoed the silence and led me to a tiny room, lined wall to wall with weapons.  
Plenty of guns, but also swords and daggers and shelves of grenades and weapons I couldn’t identify.

Still, there was space in the midst of the artillery for a twin mattress and a lopsided dresser.

“Get some sleep.” 

The door creaked shut. I placed my machine on the rock-hard bed and dropped myself beside it. We hadn’t packed any books, so the lack of shelf space wouldn’t be a problem.

I gave up counting when I’d reached 40 guns. My dad never even carried a pocket knife. But this wasn’t my dad’s house. My dad was in prison and I was in Kansas. I dropped my head into my hands.

Samuel Campbell’s guest room also featured neat stacks of toilet paper, canned food, and medical supplies so I could barely maneuver to the door without turning sideways. 

So, the lunacy was genetic. Good information. Other than my mother, this wacko was the only un-incarcerated family I had in the world. If this was the reception I got from my namesake, I would have rather choked on his full armory than meet the rest of this town.

***

Somehow, I only notice the steaming pile of crap when I’m standing in it. Everyone else walks around.

I groan at the slimy, stinky sole of my shoe, yank them off and hurl them at the nearest locker. The clang reverberates down the hall and becomes a voice, warbling nonsense. The light shifts to pastel pink.

Something glints from within the shit so I swallow the vomit in my throat and thumb clean a smooth, clear stone. Diamond, quartz, zirconia, hardly matters. It dissolves into mist with flames at its core, floats toward and then straight through me, chilling my body as it vanishes. 

***

My eyes popped open to the unfamiliar darkness and musk of my grandfather’s fallout closet.  
Goosebumps, damp sheets and a raging hard-on. Welcome to the prairie.


	3. Chapter 3

The Stars and Stripes flapped over the Kansas state flag, which flew over a white one with a growling bear dead center. All I needed to do was press the red button on the intercom.

Late, my first day. Awesome first impression.

In my defense, I’d left the house in time to be punctual, but some heathen hurled something at me through the window of a short, yellow bus. 

“Seriously?” 

I stopped walking to breathe through the anger. Two sessions of yoga therapy before it got too expensive. My takeaway: breathe.

It was easy to identify the ‘something thrown’ as gum. It took ten minutes to detangle my hair without scalping myself.

“Fuck you, Oskaloosa. I hate you, too.”

Once the heathen’s wad of watermelon Bubble Yum was on the pavement, I dragged my feet down the middle of the narrow street until I was standing before those ominous double doors.

Press the button. Should be cake.

My heart thudded behind my ribs and jostled my stomach. Breakfast wanted out the way it rode in. I retreated and hid behind the hedges of the nearest house. Ass cold and wet in the dewy grass. Hugging my knees to my chest. Rocking myself. “Fuck. Fuck fuckfuck.”

I hadn’t had friends my age in ... ever. When I went to school, most kids tolerated me. It had been three years; I was probably much weirder.

My best friend in Takoma Park had been Mrs. Stephens, who taught me to paint silk scarves and play When the Saints Come Marching In on the ukulele. She and my parents’ theater friends were the extent of my social interactions.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d conversed with someone under thirty. My recent experience with kids my age was the brainless, social media obsessed, selfie-taking morons, on YouTube. We had one thing in common: music.

Option 1: Skip school and tell my mother I’d gone. She’d never know.

Or, I could breathe deeply and stop being a baby.

It would be fine. 

I mean, it would suck, obviously, but I’d survive it. 

Exhale.

The hardest part was walking into the damn building. Staring would be the worst part. People would stare. That was a given. Mean words = sticks and stones. I rubbed that place on my cheek where the word FREAK remained emblazoned beneath the skin. 

At least I was alive. Some trans-kid in California had just been stabbed by her boyfriend. My mother made sure I knew these things.

I buried my face between my knees.

Option 2: burn down the entire state of Kansas. 

The place was cursed. Or I’d be cursed as long as I stayed there. The day after we arrived, the car gave up the ghost. So, my mother sold our only other valuable belonging: my sewing machine.

eBay, in one hour, seven grand. 

For the record, I didn’t cry. 

I also didn’t help box and carry Juni to the post office. My mother’s grunting struggles to do so by herself were my only bitter consolation. 

“We’ll get a new one, Sam. I promise.” She patted my cheek and called me a sweet boy.

I narrowed my eyes and tried to glare a hole into her face.

“Sweetheart,” she corrected her previous statement with an emphasis on the heart. 

As if I was pissed about pronouns. Nobody ever gets that right.

Most days aren’t a hard pendulum swing. Not ‘sweet girl’ enough to get offended by the misgenderers. Not ‘him’ enough to cry because Mom won’t let me wear a dress. Most days, I’m just me, in a baggy white t-shirt and leggings, hair loose and pronouns are a crock.

The first day at Oskaloosa High was like most days. 

The initial survival plan for Kansas: wear neutral shit, disappear in the crowd until Interlochen opened its pearly gates. But that morning, after my mother loaded my last comfort into my grandfather’s pickup truck, I snapped. 

I marched back to my ‘room,’ swapped the grey sweatpants for control-top panties and the tightest black jeans I owned. Complete with an oversized black tee hanging off my shoulder and a mermaid on a silver chain: the one my dad gave me for my 13th birthday. 

My reflection was girlier than I felt, but that’s how it would be. 

Before we left Maryland, Mom begged me to get a haircut. I responded with pictures of David Beckham, Brad Pitt, and Chris Hemsworth - all with ponytails. I’d rather have licked than look like them, but they made the point. Thank you, gentlemen.

The Great Kansas Compromise was a tidy, low, boyish ponytail. I dragged out the scrunchy, shook my head like a wet dog and let this lifeless, stringy mess fall around my face. 

There I sat, cross-legged, behind the bushes, wondering if the red berries might be poison.   
After a few more breaths, I reached into my bag. Using my phone’s mirror, I slathered on plum-colored lip gloss, smokey eye-liner, and blue shadow. 

Once again, with feeling: Screw You, Oskaloosa.

I marched to the school, rang the bell and entered that quarter of Hell with my head high enough to count ceiling tiles. 

Mrs. Harvelle, the secretary at the front desk, held up a finger without sparing a glance. Behind her, a poster eagle suggested I ‘SOAR.’ Einstein licked his tongue at me from another one with the caption: ‘Be Yourself. Everyone else is taken.’ 

That was a good one.

When her conversation ended, she blinked and asked,

“Can I help you?” 

Mouth open. Nothing. I cleared my throat and tried again. 

“Um, I’m new. My mother sent the paperwork.” 

There was only one file on her desk. “Sam Cohen?” 

I nodded. 

Mrs. Harvelle sucked her teeth as she scanned the papers, crossing out places and scribbling in others. 

“Your transcript is a mess. Where’d you transfer from?” 

“I was homeschooled.”

Her reply was one part sympathy, two parts annoyance. “That’s why.” 

She handed me the corrected sheet and yelled over her shoulder, “Kelly, walk her to Mr. Nelson’s class.” 

Kelly rolled her eyes and led through the door, down the hallway, and around a corner. The Pledge of Allegiance rang through the PA. Mom and I had a hearty debate about the ‘Under God’ thing, but I hadn’t recited it in years. In fact, I’d forgotten all about that. 

“Take a left, then another left, go up the stairs and halfway down D Hall.” 

I watched for teacher’s names beside their doors and narrowly avoided being trampled by a herd of wild boys. They were the rough and tumble breed who’d always been so offended by my existence. I shrank against the wall to make space.

One of them grumbled, “Watch it,” but that was the worst of it.

I thought I’d slip to the back of the classroom, but Mr. Nelson called out before I could reach a free desk, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new student. Samantha, please step to the front.” 

They all stared like I was on TV and my face caught fire.

“It’s just Sam. Not Samantha.” I slid into a chair, ignoring his invitation for further humiliation.

“That’s not what it says here.”

“Well, it's wrong.” 

“You don’t have to get hoity-toity about it.” He scratched a new note onto the sheet of paper. “We can call you Sam.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that's my name.”

That earned a snicker and a few whispers.

I was arguing on autopilot, the tired debate I’d had with every teacher throughout my elementary school career. Every single one of them had insisted my full name must be Samuel, but it’s not. There was a crucial difference between those conversations and this one: Samantha. 

I shut the hell up.

Nelson droned on for an hour about Waterloo before the bell tolled freedom. 

But before I could flee, a small, round, brown-skinned girl with curly, electric red hair blocked my path. Her huge tits mashed against my arm when she clamped onto me and squealed, “That was fucking epic. The way you stood up to Nelson. He was all like, ‘Get up’ and you were like, ‘Fuck you, man. I’m not fucking moving.’” 

An animated, if exaggerated reenactment. 

“Abby Noonan. I sit, like, two seats over.” 

I shook Abby Noonan’s hand. First contact. 

“Where the hell are you from, Sam?” 

A galaxy far, far away. 

“Me and my mom just moved from DC, yesterday, pretty much.” 

“Wow.” Her huge eyes grew rounder. “And you guys just talk to teachers like that over there?” 

“I haven't been in a school in three years.” 

Abby gasped in admiration, mouth wide like a dying fish.

“I was homeschooled.” 

“Oh. Were you sick or something?” 

Before I could answer, she stumbled forward and bumped her forehead against my chest. A stampede of boys jostled past, grunting, “Move it.” 

One of the brutes walked backward, locking his hunter-green eyes with mine before he looked at Abby and said, “Sup, Flabs,”

He licked his full lips, smirked and punched the guy next to him. As they rounded the corner, he stole another glance over his shoulder. 

Abby touched a finger to my chin and helped me close my mouth. 

“Everything that glitters around here is not fucking gold.” 

***

Mom was right about one thing: they all hated me. Teachers ignored me for entire class periods, put me in corners with ‘placement tests.' Some idiot threw a pen at me during a movie in Biology. All for one reason: I didn’t grow up around here. 

I considered walking off campus at lunch, but security guarded that door like a troll under a bridge. I slunk into the cafeteria and all conversation stopped.

Abby waved from the far right table and time resumed. Another stumpy girl with thick-framed glasses scoured me from top to toe as I dropped my tray of mass-produced slop and sat across from them. 

My train of thought went: factory slop, prison, dad, stop. I’d rather die than cry in school.

“Sam, this is Sarah. Sarah, Sam.” 

Sarah ignored Abby’s introduction and popped a tater tot into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to speak. I only realized how much energy the morning’s false-confidence demanded when I couldn't stop shoveling the limp, flavorless ‘meat-stick’ into my mouth.

“How’s your day going?” 

I considered the possible responses, and went with, “Pretty shitty.” 

“Welcome to Oskaloosa, baby.” Abby leaned across the table and whisper-shouted to Sarah, “Dean Winchester was totally checking her out.” 

“Dean Winchester will screw anything underweight. Why are you even sitting with us?” Sarah asked and pointed. “Goths are over there.” 

The Goths all wore black clothes and disgruntled expressions. As much as I respected their countercultural pride, they kind of scared me.

Pastel-clad blond girls and their honor guard populated the next table, all of them made of sunshine. Smack in the middle was Dean Winchester, right where he belonged. I had not, however, expected him to be smiling at me. 

My heart clenched, and I lowered my gaze. 

Abby waved both hands for my attention. “Seriously, though? He’s a whore. Also, those guys? Just stay away from them. They’re not people.” 

“What does that mean, ‘not people?’” 

“They’re cruel, in ways I can’t even explain.” 

Sarah added, “Abby used to go out with Stephen Miller for, like, a week in middle school. Then, he totally dumped her.” 

I’d never dated anybody, but that didn’t sound like non-human behavior. People go out; people break up.

“He was just trying to find out what I am.”

“What you are?” I repeated, but it still didn’t compute.

“Yeah. Like, my race.” 

My parents only used that word if someone was running.

“Like if I’m black or white or what.” 

I’d assumed Abby was Latina or maybe multi-ethnic. “Oh.”

“My parents are white and I’m not from the res. So, there was this whole debate about which of them had mated with a savage.” 

I dropped my soggy tot. “Someone actually said that?”

Abby nodded. “Anyway, Stephen found out I’m adopted, broke up with me and told everyone, ‘cause that was the whole point. To find out what I am.” 

“Jesus.” 

That was the end of my healthy appetite. I pushed the tray away before that fake food could make me gag.

“And fucking Dean Winchester is his best friend. They’re not people, Sam. They’re hyenas.” 

Point taken. What would the hyenas do if they found out about me?


	4. Chapter 4

As promised, Abby was waiting by the bicycle rack so we could walk together. I smiled and waved and she responded with a ‘zombie at your six’ stare.

Dean Winchester passed me in a haze of cologne and slung his arm over Abby’s shoulder. He scorched the earth with a radioactive grin. “How’s it going, Flabby? When you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

The attention paralyzed her, so he arm extended a hand and said, “Dean Winchester.”

Even before our hands met, my chest ignited.

“I just wanted to let you know, any new girl is welcome here, as long as she looks like you. Isn’t that right, Flabster?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Abby.

“Wow, you really are a dick.”

The words slipped out and for a second, time stood still. Abby’s mouth fell open. Dean blinked. Sensing tension, the people near us turned around.

Heart fluttering out of control, I closed my eyes and rolled in my lips.

“What did you say?”

I opened my eyes and braced for impact.

Dean tossed his head back, so cool. “What’s your name?”

When I didn’t answer, he tried to stare it out of Abby. A crowd swelled around us and someone ratted me out.

“Where you come from, Sam?”

“Washington.”

And I would have given anything to be back there.

“State?”

“DC.”

“Ah.” Dean nodded as if that bit of geographical information explained everything that was wrong with me. “You think I'm a dick, but you’re not even from around here.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

I cleared my dry throat. “You’re calling people hurtful things and -”

“We’ve been calling her that since we were in second grade. Were you here for that?” He raised his brow, indicating my turn to talk.

“No.”

“No. So, you should probably shut up and mind your own business. Am I right, Flabs?”

“Don’t call her that!”

That outburst was intentional.

Dean squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam. I’m trying to maintain my temper with you. Why? Because I’m not a dick. I could lose my shit and be a real asshole, but I’m not doing that.”

He had a point. An agitated audience of our peers was eager for him to lose his shit and be a real asshole. Someone shoved him toward me and suggested he ‘knock me out.’

Dean turned to address his fan base. “Cool it. I’m not going to fucking hit a girl, okay?” When he turned back the gears were grinding behind his flawless face. “I think you owe me an apology, Sam.”

“What?”

“You come to my town, call me hurtful things, in front of my friends and people I've known all my life.” He patted Abby on the head. “I bet you I’ve known Flabby here for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Abby, are you okay with him calling you that?”

Her gaze bypassed Dean and connected with another, disgustingly attractive, fair-haired boy - grinning like we were a WWF match.

Abby lowered her face and whispered, “I’m good.”

Dean opened his arms wide in triumph. Every hand in the mob clamored to pat his back. He pointed a finger at my face and commanded, “Apologize.”

“No.”

“Of course, you won’t,” he said. “Because you’re a stuck-up east coast bitch.”

Dean Winchester’s flock of idiots erupted in even wilder howls. He gave them a gratified nod and stalked off with the other sunshine boy. I only realized I was trembling when Abby touched my arm.


	5. Chapter 5

I slumped forward on the toilet seat, elbows on my knees, face in my hands and let a day’s worth of piss flowed for two minutes. I shuddered and sighed, resolved not to fall asleep in Abby’s bathroom.

Hands washed and dried, my pinky fixed the corner of my eyeliner.

I stopped at the door to Abby’s room. She clutched a t-shirt over her chest, but relaxed when she saw me. Her jeans squeezed her belly into an inner tube of fat.

“My dad is downstairs. Come in and close the door.” 

I tried not to ogle my friend, but all previous breasts in my life belonged to my mother and those never spilled out of a too small bra. 

I maneuvered around piles of clothes and sat on the edge of Abby’s bed, eyes pinned to a poster of a girl band in brightly colored ski masks. Their tongues stuck out of the mouth slits.

___ Riot. Masking tape covered the blank.

“My parents are so lame.” 

Abby’s father asked her to ‘turn down the racket.’ Otherwise, he seemed no lamer than any other dad. 

Baby pink walls, snow-white curtains, the ballerina on her music box and my eyes kept roving back to Abby’s chest. 

She looked down at herself. “They’re ridiculous, right?” 

Ridiculous is not the word I would have used. Massive. Tremendous.

Abby jumped and jiggled. “Nature is a fucking asshole. I got yours, mine and Sarah’s. I’m going to wind up with back problems.” 

I blinked, nodded and diverted my eyes too late. My body had already taken an interest.   
Abby tilted her head like a basset at an opera of sirens. She stood so my eyes met her pebbling nipples. 

“Do you want to touch?” Her voice was low, calf-brown eyes were misty and soft. “I don’t mind.” 

My brain screamed, ‘NOOOO!’ 

Other parts, however, stirred. My hand hung in mid-air and landed on my giggling lips. Abby placed it directly over her heart: warm and softer than I’d imagined. 

I nodded and shifted my hips so I could rub myself with my wrist - only because if I didn’t I was going to die. To Abby, it would just look like I was scratching my stomach. 

If I’d been thinking clearly, I wouldn’t have let her tug my shirt over my head. 

“Whoa. I thought Sarah was flat.” 

I shielded my chest with a pillow. Abby pulled it away and rubbed her clammy hand down my sternum, between the empty cups of my bra. Then, she straddled my lap. 

My eyes widened, but I sat back to make space. Her mouth was descending toward mine when I twitched. Not all of me; one particular part.

Abby jumped to her feet, staring down at the fabric covering the twitching idiot. 

I snatched my shirt from the floor, but Abby took it away again. She danced out of her pants revealing a caramel cupcake in a yellow bra and Spongebob panties. Her hair, Manic Panic Wildfire. I clutched my t-shirt in place.

Abby wiped a strand of hair out of my face. “You are the most badass bitch I have ever met in my life.” 

It was supposed to be a compliment, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Can I see?” 

She tugged the t-shirt and after a moment of struggle, I let it go. It wasn’t well thought out, but I wanted her to know.

The head of my cock peeked out of my control tops like a one-eyed alien trying to find the sun. Abby tapped the slit, a thin tendril of slick clung to her finger. I met Abby’s eyes, tears pooling.

Short fingers loosened my fly, tugged down my jeans and underwear. She wrestled them off, along with my sneakers and peeled my hands away. 

“Wow, Sam.”

My face burned, but I kept still and let her see me.

“You’re way bigger than Stephen.”

That was unrequested information.

“How do you hide that thing?” 

“I’m not ...” I swallowed a clump of the sand in my throat. “It’s not always like this.” 

Abby laughed. “I know, but … Wow. How can no one have noticed this?” 

“They’re not looking for it. They see the makeup and the hair and...” 

Abby sat in the middle of her bed, legs crossed and eyes on me. “So, you, like, tuck it up in your Spanx?” 

My hands fidgeted. “Um, most women with penises tuck it back, like, all the way and tape it. You have to put your balls-” 

“Wait a minute.” Abby raised her hand. “Doesn’t ‘penis’ automatically equal man?”

“I’m not a man.”

“Yeah, okay. But you won’t really be a girl until you get that ... you know.” She snapped her fingers like scissors. “I’m a girl right now.”

Abby raised her brows at my crotch. I covered my deflating dick with my hands. 

“I’m not what’s in between my legs.”

“I didn’t mean to …” 

She hopped up, mashed her chest against my lower back and wrapped her fleshy arms around me. “I’m sorry. So, if most ... women tuck it, why don’t you?” 

“Because I, kind of, um, get excited a lot.” Speaking of the devil, it was already reviving. “And that hurts if it’s tucked back.” 

Abby rested her forehead between my shoulder blades, caressing my roiling stomach.

“You’re so skinny.”

It was supposed to be another compliment.

“I feel like I’m the wrong body sometimes,” she said. “Not about my junk, but, you know ... Other   
stuff.” 

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I don’t, like, hate my dick. Usually. I guess sometimes I do.” 

“So, you have, like, multiple personalities?” 

“I’m just me.” 

Abby nodded against my back. “So, are you going to dress like a girl every day?” 

My mother always said, ‘you sleep in the bed you made.’ “Can’t exactly go back and forth, can I?”

Abby’s pinky brushed my pubes, and I caught her wrist, spinning to glare down into her wide eyes. 

“You can’t tell anyone.” 

She nodded and stroked me slowly with loose fingers. “Does that feel good?” 

My chin fell to my chest, knees melting as waves of heat surged through me.

“Have you ever fucked anyone, Sam?” 

I shook my head, in awe of the question, the situation, the dizzying sensation of not-my hand.

“Do you want to?” 

I don’t think I said yes. Or no. I’m sure I stood there with my mouth hanging open while Abby pushed me onto the bed and climbed onto my lap. 

When I whimpered like an injured animal, she covered my mouth. I clutched her doughy, grinding hips. Abby moved, and I saw stars. She lowered her huge, sweaty breasts onto my face and my body coiled into an aching tightness until I released in shuddering, sobbing shock waves of pleasure and embarrassment. 

Abby propped on her elbow and kissed my cheek. “Are you okay?” 

I panted, still unsure what words I’d say if I could form them.

“I will never tell a soul, Sam. I swear to you.”


	6. Chapter 6

At the dinner table, Mrs. Noonan commanded us to bow our heads. I lowered my gaze and waited. My mother would have given us an hour-long lecture on protection, so I expected the same from Abby’s parents. 

Abby’s elbows and clasped hands formed a neat triangle with the table, so I did the same. 

“Precious Father...” 

Abby’s dad didn’t react to the nickname. 

“… we come before you today, worthless sinners.”

Oh.

The Pledge of Allegiance was the closest I’d ever come to praying.

Abby’s parents' eyes were shut. Her mother’s head swayed as she spoke. Abby toed my calf and winked without abandoning the pose. 

“We thank you this day for this bountiful feast...” 

Which consisted of spaghetti and meatloaf in red sauce. 

“Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the B Abigail received on her History exam. We thank you for the new brakes on Derrick’s car, Lord and for the set of Tupperware that Mrs. Graham purchased this afternoon.”

If there were any way to take out my phone and videotape the moment, I would have.

“We thank you for your beautiful child, Samantha and that Abby finally has another friend than that Sarah. For these and all your many blessings, we thank you. In the name of your son Christ Jesus, we pray. Amen.” 

I echoed the Amen after Abby and her father.

Mrs. Noonan doled out food with a smile. “So, Sam. Abby tells us you’re from the nation’s capital. That’s exciting. Did you ever meet the president?” 

“Sherry.” Mr. Noonan rolled his eyes as he accepted his plate.

“What, Derrick? People meet the president all the time, Derrick. He’s just a person. Did you live near the White House, Samantha?” 

“Not really.” 

Abby dropped her face into her hands and I shook with bottled up laughter.

“Pass your plate, honey.” Abby obeyed, but her mother swatted her hand. “Not you. There’s a salad in the kitchen for you.” 

Abby sucked her teeth and scooted out her chair hard enough to dig grooves into the hardwood. 

“Hey!” Her father shouted. “You’re going to be sanding the floor?” 

Abby trudged back with a bowl of greens and a bottle of Ranch. Her mother snatched away the dressing mid-pour. As Abby fluffed her lettuce, I lost my appetite for mediocre meatloaf.

“Eat up, Sam.” Mrs. Noonan tapped her fork on the side of her plate. “You look like one of those little Ethiopian kids.” 

“Daddy, you’re driving us tonight, right?” 

“I said I would.”

Abby's mom flicked her elbow off the table. “So, are you saved, Sam?” 

I waited for clarification, but Abby snickered around her fork.

“Are you born again?” Mrs. Noonan asked, holding off on her next bite until I responded. 

Born again. I’d heard of it.

Abby came to my rescue. “We’re doing it tonight, Mom, okay?” 

I thanked Mrs. Noonan for the meal and climbed into the backseat of their SUV. Abby leaned forward between the seats to pop in a CD. 

“None of that hollering music,” her father said. 

Abby kissed his cheek. I gazed out of the window to let the hot skewer of jealousy subside. My dad always wanted to hear what I was listening to.

Abby settled back and slid a hand under my thigh. Even if her dad couldn’t see in the rearview mirror, it was taking unnecessary chances. I slid closer to my door, declined her offer for a Mento and kept my gaze out of the window while her grabby paws explored. 

When Mr. Noonan parked in front of a brick house, a fresh wave of dread washed over me.

“Will Dean Winchester be here?” 

“Psh. As if.” Abby snorted. “God wishes.”

***

Pastor Jesse had an acoustic guitar and adorable dark curls that fell into his face while he sang like an angel. The dozen teen disciples piled on his sofa and floor, singing while I mumbled the projected lyrics. The pastor’s pretty wife passed out oven-fresh blondies. The only thing missing was a crackle in the fireplace, but it was too warm outside for that. 

I was boiling with Abby’s body heat seeping into my side. Every now and again, she’d pinch my leg. 

When the singing ended Pastor Jesse read the Bible and asked about our week. A kid with bright orange hair stood and told a harrowing tale of someone offering him a cigarette. Pastor Jesse nodded with his chin on his fist.

“The devil is alive and tempting us at every turn,” he said. “That’s why we must gird ourselves with scripture and prayer. ” 

While I was trying to figure out what ‘gird’ meant, he bowed his head and everyone did the same. I prayed along for the second time in my life. 

My mind wandered back over the two minutes of paradise with Abby but landed on the showdown with that insufferable moron, Dean Winchester. His stupid eyes glowing in the sun. Apologize? Yeah, right. He could bite me.

Pastor Jesse had stopped talking to God and everyone was staring at me. I looked to Abby to see what I’d missed.

Pastor Jesse said, “Anyone here who has not yet received Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and   
Savior, raise your hand.” 

Abby nudged my ribs.

“Ow! Oh.” 

I raised my hand by my shoulder at first and eased it heavenward. 

“Amen.” 

Pastor Jesse placed a hand on my sweaty forehead and launched into another tirade that started with Heavenly Father and ended in Jesus’ name. As his wife fired up the projector and lead the next song, he led me into a small room, locked the door and gestured for me to take a seat at the table. 

“You ever read the Bible, Sam?” 

I shook my head and eyed the well-worn book.

“You ever touch a Bible?” 

Pastor Jesse braced both hands on the table, blowing his hot, blondie-sweet breath on my cheek. The corner of his lips curled. 

“I know what you are.” 

I leaned back in my steel chair, but there was nowhere to go.

“Beherit, Belial, Haborym, Ishtar, Lilith, Naamah. I name you. I see you for the filth you are. You put on this sheep’s clothing and sneak into my home. I have already rebuked you in the name of   
Christ." 

Tears streamed down the man’s face as his fingers dug into my arm. I winced, but couldn’t clear my head enough to struggle or cry out. 

He shook me hard and whispered, “I rebuke you.” 

What the hell is rebuke?

His chest heaved as he dragged me closer. 

The doorknob rattled and Pastor Jesse tossed me into the chair. He forced a ragged breath through his nose and ran his fingers through his hair before he opened the door. 

His wife peered around him and asked, “Everything good?” 

“Yep. I was just coming for you.”

Pastor Jesse left the room and joined the still singing teens. His wife sat across from me, smiled and placed a palm on the Bible. Good cop.

“You bear a special burden, don’t you, Sam?” 

I didn’t move, breathe or deny it. I braced in case she switched roles and hurled her book at me.

She opened to a frayed page, scanning with her finger as she read, ‘For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness ... those who practice such things deserve to die.’ 

Sad, toffee-colored eyes waited for me to reply. What the hell was I supposed to say?

“Now, we didn’t want to talk about this in front of the other kids. Being where you’re from, you probably don’t even know that homosexuality is a sin. Did you know that, Sam?”

I’d heard of sin but couldn’t recall where or exactly what it meant. Just that it was bad.

“Abby already knows the wages of sin is death. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I was a faithless heathen, not an idiot. Jesus was God’s son and perfect and still, his dad had him nailed to some lumber to make a point. It was also no surprise God would want me dead. I was a testament to His fallibility. The only question was how and when.


	7. Chapter 7

I bit my cheek and choked back the tears at the three-foot cartoon penis covering my locker. My lower lip retreated into my mouth. Abby’s hand on my back kept me from screaming. 

A murderous cold front moved down my spine as Dean Winchester and Stephen Miller snickered past. When they disappeared around the corner I allowed myself a loud sniffle. 

Abby’s doe eyes peered up. “Hey. You did call him a dick, which of all the insults you could have thought of....”  

So, that’s how it felt to have a nemesis.

***

_ Every time Dean Winchester’s fist connected with my face, he inflated until he’d become a larger-than-life penis that chased me through the school, shouting. _

“Come back here, you little fucker.”

I woke to shouting.

Campbell, in real life. Not Dean in a dream, which was only slightly preferable. My heart was still thudding. Was someone breaking into the house? Was the old man having a heart attack?

I crept down the hall brandishing the broom like a rifle.

Campbell was right where I last saw him: in his recliner, eyes shut, fists flailing while he yelled about little, yellow demons. 

As I debated whether to wake him, his eyes popped open, chest heaving, leg still twitching, he hawked up a throat full of phlegm. 

I recoiled, but for nothing. The old man dribbled spit into his coffee mug, which turned my stomach, but wasn’t what I’d expected.

***

Abby warned me that Dean Winchester worked at the garage, so I always walked the long way from her place. I was at the Noonan’s after school every day to hang out, listen to music, do homework. But she always wanted to do other stuff. It felt amazing while it was happening, but the second it was over, this weird empty swept over me - like the price of the orgasm was my soul seeping out through my dick. 

It didn’t make sense because Abby was cute. And she was the best friend I’d ever had. 

***

Somehow I survived that first week and arrived, exhausted, but alive on a sweet Saturday morning. I sat cross-legged in my T-shirt and favorite panties, working on a new Gritslarn comic. 

My protagonist was an angular, androgynous humanoid who travels beyond the known universe, encountering new species. In this issue, Gritslarn is shipwrecked on a moon inhabited by creatures who spread victims’ limbs over wooden planks before devouring and exsanguinating them. 

At the last minute, our hero is saved by the Emanon - a bulbous, vaguely fish-smelling creature that left a trail of candy-pink slime. Gritslarn follows, slurping up the ooze, which is also a nutritious truth serum. 

The door swung open, and I slid the book under my pillow as if I’d been drawing dicks. 

My grandfather stared at me. Some people knock, but not this guy. It was his house after all.

“Yes?” As an afterthought, I added, “Sir?”

“Your mother said to tell you she's working a double.” 

These were the first words he’d spoken to me since we arrived.

“Okay. Thanks.” 

Between her work and my school and every day after school at Abby’s house, I hadn’t seen my mother since Monday. I reached for my phone to send her a text, but the old man was still haunting the doorframe. For the first time, I registered the gun hanging from his hand. 

“Get up.” 

I tried to obey but couldn’t move. He shook the weapon in my face and growled, “Move it, Sam.” 

A few deep breaths calmed me enough to realize that he was pointing the handle - not the barrel - at me. 

I’d never seen a gun in real life and my arm sagged with the unexpected weight. 

“Out back. Let’s go.” 

My grandfather left the door wide open. 

ME: I think your dad wants to duel with me.

When my mom didn’t reply right away, I pulled on a pair of jeans and skipped the socks and shoes. Her fault if I was dead when she got home. 

My grandfather shoved a pair of massive headphones at my chest and eyed my blue toenails (courtesy of Abby). I wiggled my toes in the warm dirt, still damp from the previous night’s shower.

“A real man knows how to defend himself ... Try it again. Relax your elbows.” 

I fired off three more rounds before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I begged permission with my eyes. The old man looked annoyed but nodded. 

ABBY: What're you up to?

ME: Shooting with my batty fricking grandfather

ABBY: Cool.

ME: I guess

ABBY: Movie tonight?

ME: Cool. Talk l8r

Abby always ended our conversations with three hearts emojis. I sent her my customary mermaid. 

Grampa Campbell handed me the reloaded gun and asked, “That your boyfriend?” 

I froze, speechless.

“What, d'you think I didn’t know? Look at you.” 

Plain white T and snug ripped jeans. Hair pinned back in a neat ponytail. Nothing feminine or masculine about the way I was standing or acting. 

My grandfather clipped off five cans in a row. “It was wrong for Mary to keep you from me all this time.”

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I didn’t try.

“Before you were born. Before we’d even found out the girl was pregnant, Clara saw you in a dream. You know about your gramma?”

I’d known her name and seen a picture.

“She was half-Kiowa, you know.”

I didn’t know until he’d said it.

“Had a touch of the Sight. Said you were hazy. Peculiar. Reckon this is what she meant.” 

“I’m not gay, Grandpa.” 

His whole body shook with laughter. “Look, I don’t give a shit how many dicks you suck. You’re my kin. That’s all that matters.”

Why bother trying to explain? Everybody understands gay. They love it, or they hate it, but they get it.

“Mary thinks we’re all just a bunch of backwoods hicks. But she grew up here just like I did and she ought to know we ain’t all the same.”

He took the weapon and picked off a few more cans.

“And I warned her about your daddy. Then, he turned to be the criminal, like I said. You can't trust Jews and blacks to do the right thing. It's not in ‘em.”

My chest tightened.

“That's not racist, Sam. That’s a scientific fact. You don't give them your money, you sure as hell don't --” 

“Grandpa. Can we just shoot?” 

“Sure, son. And call me Campbell, like the rest of these assholes.” He clapped me on the back and I stumbled forward. “You're my grandson and I love you. Homo or no. Always remember that.” 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

In celebration of the last day of school, Mom came home early with takeout. One day closer to Interlochen and out of this corner of Hell. 

I divvied sides from styrofoam containers onto three paper plates. She plucked a fried chicken thigh from the bucket and slumped into her seat at the head of the table. With the dark circles around her eyes and a red plastic cup of Campbell’s whiskey in her right hand, she looked like the kind of undereducated, overworked washout who belonged in this town.

She’d never fed me this crap before we got to Kansas. Back home, it was always organic, locally grown produce and ancient, whole grains from The Co-op.

Mom yawned twice before she asked how school had been. I answered with a single syllable lie: Fine.

I didn’t mention that the education system in this place was years behind what I’d learned at home. I didn’t mention my archenemy. Or that I’d flunked PE because I refused to change clothes or compete with the other girls. I didn’t tell how I’d marched the halls of the school like a falsely accused death row inmate.

“You been to see Johnny?” Campbell asked around a mouthful of slaw.

Mom finished her drink and poured herself another. “I wasn’t planning on it.” 

It was the first I’d heard that name. I’d have to get the full scoop from Campbell sometime.

“He’s had it rough these last few years, since Laurel.” 

“We’ve all had it rough, Dad.” 

“You know, things could have been different if you had --” 

“Dad.” 

It was like watching ping pong. 

Mom ended the match by rubbing her temple and saying, “I’m not talking to him, now or ever. So don’t get any stupid ideas.” 

 

***

 

The summer job was Campbell’s idea. So there I was, leaning on the counter, doodling sea creatures with my elbow on the paper to keep the plastic revolving fan from blowing it away. 

The bell over the door rang over the groans of the useless, ancient air conditioner. 

“Pack a’Marlboro originals.” 

“Need to see some ID,” I said without looking at the customer until I had the driver’s license in hand. 

The cocky smile on the picture matched the moron before me. Dean’s name was embroidered onto the label of his greasy overalls. He was still infuriatingly gorgeous.

His head tilted back in defiant recognition. “City bitch.” 

Still gross.

“Hick asshole.” 

“You’re a lesbian, aren’t you? You and Flabby Noonan.” 

I rang up the cigarettes and shoved them across the counter. “You know, I don’t usually wish lung cancer on people, but in your case, I'll make an exception.”

“What is your problem? The girl said she was fine with it.” 

He slapped down a ten-dollar bill. I snatched the money and punched the keys on the cash register. 

“You and your lynch mob made her say that.” 

“It’s a joke, okay? She’s chunky. Her name is Abby. It rhymes. It’s funny. Lighten up, for God’s sake.” 

“It’s not funny. Nobody wants to be talked to like that.” 

I dumped the monster’s change onto the counter. He leaped back and watched the coins rolled onto the floor. 

“You’re fucking crazy. She doesn’t even care.” 

“Why wouldn’t she care? She’s a person.” 

Dean stooped to collect his scattered coins. “You’re too sensitive.” 

“You’re too perfect.”  That came out wrong. “Everything is so easy for you. That’s why you don’t understand.” 

“Whatever.”

He seized his smokes and slammed his way out of the door. 

Once my rage tremors subsided, I texted the only person who’d understood. 

ME: You would not believe who just came into my store. 

ABBY: Let me guess

ME: Dean Fucking Winchester

ABBY: What did you say? 

ME: I told him to bite me

ABBY: I bet you did, too. You badass. I’m going to suck you silly tonight 

It wasn’t the commiseration I was looking for. I blushed at my phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

 

*** 

 

I made a game of kicking rocks down the dusty road. An old, black car slowed and veered onto the shoulder, dust billowing as it backed toward me. 

I tugged the frayed bottoms of my cutoff jean shorts. Mom had insisted I throw away that too-small shirt and I hadn’t listened.

Nothing but pebbles to throw. There was still time to turn and run back to the store. I could call Campbell to pick me up, but he’d tell me to stop being a nancy and hang up. The house was close. I could just run home.

At the rear bumper of the car, I held my breath, resolved to march by. 

“Hey. You need a ride?” 

Dean Winchester’s voice floated out of the passenger’s side window, along with some kind of twangy guitar music. 

At least it was someone I knew. I kept walking without looking at him. Gravel crunched under the tires as he rolled beside me. 

“Listen. Would you stop walking, please?” 

I took a few more steps before I paused, arms folded and eyes on the road. 

“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole, okay?”

“Are you apologizing?” 

“No,” Dean snapped and then softened his tone. “Just saying we might have misunderstood each other. And asking if you want to, maybe, call it a truce. Just for the summer.” 

I squinted through the passenger window. That face was an unfair advantage. 

“Fine.” 

“Cool.” The smile made it worse. “And as a gesture of goodwill, will you please let me drive you home?”

“I live right up there.”

“Campbell?” 

I nodded. 

“No shit. Then, let me walk you.” 

He cut the engine, climbed out and crooked his elbow. As if. A truce doesn’t mean touching. 

I climbed the porch steps. This idiotic, beautiful boy had actually followed me home. 

“So, let me guess,” I said. “You’ve already screwed every girl in this town?” 

“You just say whatever you’re thinking, don’t you?” 

“Is it true?” 

“Not every girl.” He laughed. “You’re interesting, okay? Hang out a little bit.” 

I glanced at the door but perched on the top step, as far from him as possible. Dean cozied up next to me, knocking our knees together. I looked away, face blazing. 

Dean patted his breast pocket. “You mind if I smoke?” 

Good. A disgusting habit to keep from falling for this moron.

“That a no?” He dropped his chin in his hand, staring up at me sideways. 

Too handsome, too charming, and too close. It was way safer when he was the enemy. I tucked my knees to

my neck and refused to meet Dean’s unabashed gaze. 

“You’re not like these girls around here, you know?”

I wasn’t like any girl anywhere. 

“Is it the city thing, or the…” He stopped himself with an endearing chuckle. “Anyway, I’m intrigued.”

He pinched at the downy hairs on my arm. I yelped at the tickle-twinge and nudged him away.

“Hey, did you know my dad used to date your mom?” 

“What?” 

“I think it was pretty serious, too.” 

I swatted his hand from the fringes of my shorts. 

“My mom used to bring it up when she was pissed at him. ‘That’s why Mary Campbell left your sorry 

ass.’” 

“That’s so weird.” 

Dean waved back to the driver of a red pickup truck. “She never talks about John Winchester?” 

Johnny.

Without thinking, I crossed my right leg over the left until Dean’s eyes scoured from ankle to thigh. 

I quickly uncrossed them and turned my back to him. My body had taken a moderate interest at the store. Now, my zipper was stretching. I pinned my knees together and counted backward from five thousand. 

Dean bumped his shoulder into mine. “So, you still hate me?”

There was something stirring in my belly, but it wasn’t hatred anymore. It was a too-new, brain corroding something I didn’t altogether enjoy.

Dean pressed his hot chest to my back and kissed my cheek, in exactly the same spot that trucker had spat. Before I could respond, he’d hopped down the steps. 

“You working tomorrow?” 

I managed a dopey nod.

“Good.” 

He grinned and jogged the rest of the way to his car. I covered my face with my sweaty palms, waves of warmth washing over me long after the dust from Dean’s car settled back on the road.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

There was no-one I could tell. Mom was working, as always. Campbell was psyched to talk about artillery and martial arts. Somehow, crushing on a boy didn’t seem like one of our go-to convos.

Was I seriously crushing on Dean Winchester?

He wasn’t a boy to crush on. He was the kind to leave a trail of bodies in his wake. Maybe also the kind who’d stab a trans-girl if he thought she’d lied to him.

Mayday.

I cued up Abby’s number on my phone, but before I could think of a message to thumb in it occurred to me that nothing had happened. I’d sat on the porch with some boy for ten minutes. I’d made peace with my enemy. He’d pecked my cheek.

My hand was rubbing it in.

I could write Abby that I was a loser, or I could shake off the stupid and do something useful like flip  
through the mail.

There, among the bills and coupons, was an envelope addressed to Samuel Cohen - from Interlochen Fine Arts Academy.

I left the junk mail on the kitchen counter, grabbed a Sunny D and trudged to my room.

The paper rectangle of destiny lay in the center of my bed: life in Michigan or death in Kansas. It was that simple. The possibility of acceptance to this school was the only thing getting me out of bed each morning.

I found a kind, familiar voice in my iTunes: Taylor Swift singing ‘Long Live.’

I said remember this moment  
In the back of my mind  
The time we stood with our shaking hands

Nerves sizzling, I read the letter twice. Then I texted my mom.

ME: Interlochen wants an interview

***

The second hand inched around the clock in slow motion until Dean Winchester blew into the store.

“Hey. You seen my license?”

My heart stuck in my mouth and I couldn’t get words out around it.

He cursed and hunted along the aisles without sparing me a glance. Then he shoved out of the door, leaving only an expletive behind him.

I cursed myself for the hollow disappointment in my gut. What did I expect, for him to lean on the counter and ask me out? That was never going to happen, and I was a dummy if I thought a boy like that would ever be interested in me.

Dean Winchester was flawless. The only kind of person who would ever want someone like me was another misfit, like Abby.

I stocked and restocked candy until my shift ended. While I was sweeping the floor, I knelt and dislodged the card from beneath the counter. Dean smirked back like he was posing for Seventeen.

My cell coverage was spotty, so I asked the co-worker with the next shift for directions to the address on the license: 123 Winchester Court.

“Just follow your nose.”

“Which means?”

He rolled his eyes like I was an imbecile and pointed. “It’s a good three miles outside of town, but it’s a straight shot. Past the Stars and Stripes, past the lumber yard. You gonna pass a white house on your right. That’s Pritchard’s. You come to 92, you gone too far.”

Sam’s delivery service didn’t mean anything. Just a courtesy gesture, since we weren’t enemies anymore. I’d want Dean to do the same unto me.

I waded through the swelter, Tay’s voice urging me on. The wind shifted and an unholy stench stopped my feet. I gagged and hid my nose in my collar. The stink seeped into my pores.

My pace doubled through the spooky woods. An hour after I’d left the store, I arrived at a mailbox with the numbers falling off and I freshened my plum colored lip gloss.

123 was the only dwelling for half a mile - a double-wide trailer suspended in mid-air, as it slipped from its cinder block foundation. The once-beige aluminum siding were filthy gray strips that were sliding from the facade. A crude stack of rough-hewn logs substituted for steps - a twisted ankle waiting to happen.

I followed whooping sounds to the back of the house and found Dean Winchester shirtless and chasing a naked man through a dirt yard full of chickens that clucked and flapped to avoid being trampled.

“God damn it, Adam,” Dean yelled when the man faked left.

Adam was a scrawny blond with a long, sallow face and an infectious cackle. I covered my mouth to hide my laughter as Adam ducked into a ramshackle barn and Dean rested his hands on his knees, panting. He shielded his eyes from the waning sunlight.

“Bath time.”

That explained nothing, but I nodded.

His chest rose and fell, muscles rippling beneath smooth, tan skin. Grinning, he licked his lips and stood upright, rubbing a hand down his glistening chest. I diverted my eyes to my messenger bag, retrieved his ID and offered it without daring another peek.

“You know, there’s more.”

To change the subject I pointed to the barn.

“Oh, that’s my brother.”

“What is...” I searched for the appropriate words to ask Adam’s condition.

Dean shrugged and said, “He’s just retarded.”

I wasn’t allowed to use that word, but there were different rules in Kansas. Naked brother in the backyard rules.

I tied my hair back in a loose bun and stooped to tie my shoe. “I’ll go around the other side and smoke him out.”

Dean chuckled. “Seriously? You’re not weirded out?”

I dropped my bag and crept to the other side of the barn. As it turned out, the horrific odor was wafting from this building. I covered my nose to keep from losing my protein bars as I stood on my toes to peer into an open window. Pink and brown squirming bodies and incessant grunt of half a dozen pigs.

“Shit!” Dean yelled. “Sam, run!”

I didn’t wait for an explanation, took off and made it to the front yard before something collided heavy with my back and knocked me face-down into the dirt.

Adam sat on my back and tugged at my hair. Dean tackled him and pinned his hands behind him. “You crazy fuck. Jesus, Sam. You okay?”

I stood and dusted off my shorts. Skinned knee. No permanent damaged.

“God. You’re fucking fast.”

It’d been a while since I’d had a good run. The blood still rushed in my veins. “You should probably quit smoking.”

Adam let out a primal growl, flipped Dean off his back and bolted. Dean swore, scooped up a rock and hurled it at his brother’s head. Adam’s hands flew up as he toppled forward.

“Are you insane?”

I ran over to check on Adam. A trickle of blood trailed from the wound on his temple, but he was still breathing. Dean knelt and slapped his brother’s face a few times. “He would have gone all afternoon and half of tomorrow. You try chasing his daffy ass into town.”

We both helped Adam to his feet.

“All right, Usain Bolt, let’s do this.”

This time, there was no more flight or fight. Adam was too busy staring at me.

“She’s pretty, right?”

My face flushed.

Dean smiled. “You touch her again, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

For the first time, I noticed the cast iron tub near the barn. Dean dipped a white towel into the water and offered it with another apology. “S’clean. I swear.”

I wiped my face while Dean helped Adam into the bath water.

“May I?”

He reclaimed the towel and used the rough fabric to clean the mud and makeup from my cheeks. I closed my eyes and mouth, face hot under Dean’s gentle touch that I could only imagine what shade of magenta I must be.

“You look better without this stuff.”

When I dared open my eyes, he grinned.

“Just saying.” He picked up a bar of soap. “I’ll give you a ride back after. I just got the water drawn, so I got to use it.”

Dean’s muscles danced as he scrubbed his brother’s back. I shifted on my feet to change the pressure of fabric against my crotch.

He circled suds around his brother’s face, whispering, “Look how grubby you are. Water’s already gray.”

I pointed to the curious purple, green and yellow marks that stained Adam’s body. “What are all these spots?”

“He's half leopard.”

Dean’s face remained perfectly straight for a moment before his smile cracked into laughter.

“Some he did to himself. Sometimes my dad gets fed up with him... Hey, if you don’t want a close up of ass and balls, you better...”

I raised my hands in false surrender and wandered across the yard through the flock of chickens.

Dean washed, dried and dressed his brother. After he’d lead Adam inside, he leaned out of the crooked screen door and shouted, “You can come in, but no judgment, got it?”

I navigated the stacked lumber stairs and my sole squelched on the grimy linoleum. The trailer groaned and shifted as I moved toward one corner of the cluttered kitchen.

Dean pointed at my feet. “Oh, yeah. Don’t stand over there.”

The safest place was at his elbow.

“You want some?”

I shook my head at the peanut butter and white bread he was preparing for Adam amid a precarious stack of unwashed dishes on the table. There were more in the sink, all over the counter and floor, along with empty milk cartons, cereal boxes, and various food containers.

“I wash ‘em once a week,” Dean explained. “Tomorrow actually. It looks like the fucking Trump Towers in here on Sundays. Put on some tunes and Mr. Clean the whole place.”

The image of Dean bouncing around the house was smile-worthy, but it was difficult to imagine that place clean.

I cleared my throat. “Could I have a drink?”

“Yeah. I got something for you. Can you hold out just a few minutes?”

Dean weaved through the stacks of old newspapers and magazines and boxes and clothes. He pointed to the stocky man asleep in the living room’s only chair.

“John Winchester, Sam…”

“Uh... Cohen.”

I’d not even seen his dad there. He blended in like part of the grime and mess.

“Cohen. What is that Jewish?”

I nodded, trying not to stare at Dean’s father. My mom’s ex. Johnny.

A beer can in one hand. The other arm hung limp. His head lolled back, mouth open, but not snoring. There were crumbs in his beard - or dandruff or something gross that I didn’t want to look at, but couldn’t stop.

“So, you’re half-Jew?”

I narrowed my eyes, waiting for the rest of Dean’s commentary.

“What? I never met a Jew before.”

“And now that you have...?”

Dean shrugged and disappeared into another room, leaving me alone with his passed out father and the mounds of crap.

I’m not a complete neat freak, but I’d always maintained my room more neatly than my parents kept the rest of our apartment. At some point, I started cleaning after them. Not as a chore or because they asked me to. I just preferred order.

The Winchester house, though - I’d never seen that level of chaos. I cleared my throat and inched towards the door.

When Dean reappeared in a Dukes of Hazzard T-shirt and fresh jeans I nodded at the sewing machine in the corner. The poor thing was covered in take-out boxes, but it was a classic. “Does your mom sew?”

“My mom’s dead.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s how she wanted it,” Dean said. “My dad won’t get rid of her stuff. Your mom sew?”

“No, but I do.”

“Cool.”

There was more peanut butter on Adam’s face, hands and shirt than in his belly.

“He’ll be all right,” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair and lead the way outside.

He offered his hand, palm-up: not to shake, but to hold. This guy was the definition of fast forward. It was no wonder he’d burned through all the other girls in town.

“You scared to touch me, Sammy?”

I hid my hands in my back pockets. My insides were already reeling. Holding hands with Dean Winchester was not going to help.

Rather than insist, Dean strode past the chicken yard and the pig house, down a path and cut through yellow, thigh-high grass to a wooden ladder. At the top, a three-walled treehouse with enough space to sit shoulder to shoulder and look out over a clearing and more forest.

A rifle rested against the far wall, but Dean ignored it in favor of the ice cooler.

“It’s hot. You ought to drink,” he said. “Don’t have Sam Adams. That’d be pretty hilarious, though.”

My head spun from the height, the heat, and Dean’s proximity. I rubbed my forehead and took a deep breath as my skin pricked from the inside.

“You okay?”

I nodded, took off my shoes and let my feet dangle over the edge, pleased with Abby’s most recent pedicure. If she did give college the middle finger, like she planned, there was always beauty school. My Dorothy Gale braids were her handiwork, as well. I pinned them on top of my head, Heidi-style. Dean pressed a cold bottle to my neck and I jumped, teetering too close to the edge. His arm shot out and caught me around my waist.

“Take it easy, little girl.”

I nudged him away and righted myself with a few, safe inches between us. The sun was blistering, my insides were boiling. There was no escaping the heat.

“So, is this your love lair or something?”

Dean laughed. “Not a lot of room for romancing up here. Nah, I don’t usually bring girls home. Never have, anyway, for obvious reasons. Used to come out here with my buddy, Steve, a lot. But he’s gonna be heading off to college in the fall, so...”

He popped a bottle with an opener on his keychain. A buxom blonde smiled up from the label. I shouldn’t have watched Dean empty his beer in one pull. My body reacted like it was porn.

He wiped his smirk with the back of his hand and I looked away, flare in my chest, pulse beating in my crotch. My long baggy shirt kept me hidden, but I draped an arm across my stomach, to be safe.

Dean rubbed his shoulder against mine and pointed. I reestablished the space between us but looked across the clearing at an animal in a tree cleaning itself with its leg up to its ear.

He snickered. “Always wished I could do that.”

“What is that thing?”

“Racoon,” Dean answered and opened another bottle.

I glared at the creature, approximating the space between its perch and ours. “You have a lot of those out here?”

“We got a lot of everything out here.”

“Are they dangerous?”

Dean laughed. “Naw. Unless they get rabies and then, yeah. Don’t worry. I got you.”

Where I grew up, there were anthropomorphic cartoon raccoons giving each other kisses, not the real thing staring me down like I was trespassing.

“Seriously, Sam. Relax.”

The advice was accompanied by his hand on the small of my back. I scooted to the wall of the lookout, next to the rifle where I could watch for all sorts of danger.

Dean took another swig and said, “Told the old man Mary Campbell’s back in town.”

“What did he say?”

He drew his finger over the bruise on his chin I’d assumed had come from wrangling Adam. “Tried to knock my lights out.”

“Why would he do that?”

Dean shrugged. “Fucking crazy.” He grinned like he was telling a joke rather than accusing his father of abuse. “Got in a couple myself. He ain’t as tough as he used to be.”

While I tried to think a response, Dean crawled to my side.

“You gonna drink that?”

I turned the bottle up. Mistake. My tongue lolled out and Dean howled as I wiped off the bitterness.

“Why do people drink this?”

“It’s always best to just swallow.”

He smirked, leering like he’d lost something in my mouth. I turned away. It was beyond stupid to be up there with him. He plucked one of the braids from my crown and rubbed it on his cheek.

“Soft.”

His mouth descended toward my neck and I mashed my other shoulder against the wall, trapped and trembling as I whispered, “I should probably head home now.”


	10. Chapter 10

Abby was supposed to be helping with my portfolio. Then I was supposed to continue work on her portrait. In reality, all my best artwork lay in neat piles on the floor. My head rested back on Abby’s bed while she was hard at work in my lap.

My hands floated in mid-air, rather than touch her head or grip her sheets. 

It’s nearly impossible to stop someone while their mouth is wrapped around your penis. I could have been more forceful about the ‘no, thank you’ as Abby was unzipping my pants. But once she’d started, I’d say something when she was done. 

‘We should probably stop fooling around.’ Or, ‘we’re cool to be friends, right?’

I’d been working on my lines since the first time. 

The problem was that while Abby only liked me for my dick, nobody else liked me at all. Except for Dean, maybe, but he didn’t have the whole story. Once he did, I’d be in for my first real ass-kicking. As a matter of fact, a pissed-off Abby would likely be the one to tell him.

When she finally came up for air, I tried to pull up my shorts. “Abby, we should probably--”

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, I… It’s really good.”

“But?” She wiped her mouth and sat back on her knees.

“I just…”

What was I supposed to say? ‘Quit coming on to me. I don’t want you like that.’  
If Dean ever said that to me, I’d climb his lookout and dive face first. I wanted to stop messing around with Abby; I didn’t want to hurt her.

She wiped hair from my face. “You know how I told you I did stuff with Stephen?”

According to Abby, ‘stuff’ meant everything under the sun. In fact, everybody told me that the girl I was hanging out with was a slut. It was her claim to fame: the girl Stephen Miller screwed for information and then dumped like soggy tots. I could never tell whether Abby was angry or proud of it.

“It was a lie,” she said. “I mean, we went out for, like two days. Then he dumped me because I wouldn’t do anything.”

That made a lot more sense than Stephen wanting to see her adoption records.

“You know I’m not like that, Abby. I mean, I wouldn’t tell anything you don’t want me to, and I wouldn’t…”

She stopped my rambling with her mouth. “You’re a lot like a girl. Sometimes I even forget, but everybody knows those things have needs.”

Abby peeled off her panties and lowered herself onto my lap as the doorknob turned.

***

Predicting the chain of events was like watching dominoes topple. Mrs. Noonan would tell all the ladies at church. One of them would tell her husband, who’d mention it while waiting on an oil change. Then Dean Winchester would lead a mob through town with a torch and a noose. Or they’d crucify me, like that guy they all claimed to love so much.

And I wouldn’t even put up a fight. I’d let Dean slaughter me before I hurt him. Campbell would call me a grade A puss if he knew what I was thinking. He’d be the only one, besides my mom, defending me.

Maybe. Or at least he wouldn’t drag my ass to the nearest tree. He might stand on the porch shaking his head and murmuring, “I knew it.”

I sat on the edge of the couch with my face buried between my knees. 

Mr. Noonan had started loud and was soon shouting in Campbell’s face. “Impersonating a girl? Who the hell does that, Campbell? What kind of weirdo sick person ... I'm telling you right now, if your grandson so much as sends my daughter a text message, I'm calling the cops.” 

“And tell 'em what, Noonan?” Campbell didn’t even raise his voice. “That your fat, little, half-breed daughter is a whore? Everybody already knows that. Matter of fact, why don't we call get Sheriff Davies on the phone to come down and have ourselves a good long laugh about it.” 

“That’s not—“

“Probably spreads those thunder thighs for you, too, doesn’t she? No harm. Ain’t your real kid.”

“You’re both sick. A pair of psychos.”

I kept my face behind my hands even after the front door slammed. 

“Didn’t deny it, did he?” Campbell chuckled. “Get over here, you fucking idiot.” 

It took a moment for me to haul myself over to stand before my grandfather like a tiny kid, although I was taller by inches. He gave no warning before the hand fell across my face, sharp and loud. 

“The hell is wrong with you? Go wash that shit off your face. And stay away from that little mutt.” 

If I’d thought first, I wouldn’t have struck my grandfather. I didn’t think; I hit him. The old man turned back in slow motion, jaw working. A cold, cruel glare lingered a few seconds before he erupted in laughter and an approving nod. Then he dealt me a sucker punch below the ribs. 

I grunted and stumbled backward. He’d never hit me that hard. But I recovered and slugged him with a right hook like he’d had shown me. 

“Good, Sam. That’s it.”

Noonan was right. We were both nuts. I screamed and stormed blows on my grandfather’s arms and upper body as he ducked and covered his head.

“That’s it, boy. You don’t let up. Don’t let him get an inch.” 

As we tromped around the living room, I earned a growl of praise for each landed punch. Every so often, Campbell would abandon his defensive mode to smack or jab. I shook it off and intensified my attack. 

“Now, I’m gonna show you why you need a haircut.” 

He grabbed a fistful of my ponytail and yanked. I came down hard on my knees, clutching and scrambling to escape while he jerked me back and forth across the floor. 

“Now, what are you gonna do? He’s got ya. Called you a fucking fairy, pissed on your grandmother’s grave.” 

I head-butted him dead center in his crotch and he released me to cup himself. I stood and took a step back, panting and wincing at his pain. “Sorry. Should I get some ice?” 

Campbell shook his head, breathless for a moment before he straightened his spine and pulled me into a rough hug. 

“That’s my boy.” 

***

I sat at the head of the bed flipping through the Bible Pastor Jesse’s wife had given me. My mother knocked, entered and dropped her garment bag as she rushed to hold my face between her clammy palms. “What the hell happened? Did Derrick Noonan touch you?”

I snaked away from her needless concern. “No, Mom. I’m fine.”

“Your grandfather told me what happened.” 

I eyed the package she’d abandoned at the foot of my bed. “You brought me a present because I had sex with a girl?” 

“Don't be stupid. Have you talked with Abby?”

“She's not allowed to talk to me.” 

The words stuck in my dry throat. But you can’t blame someone for not wanting their daughter  
screwing the devil - which is what Mr. Noonan had called me.

Mom rested a hand on my knee. “Yeah, but have you talked to her?” 

“They took her phone, but she called me from Sarah’s to say that she wasn’t mad and they haven’t executed her. Yet.” 

Abby also told me that she loved me. I didn’t want to be a jerk, so I said, ‘me, too.’ It wasn’t a lie, exactly. I cared about her more than most people. But her dad catching us was also a huge relief.

“And how are you?” 

I shrugged. 

“Are you in love with her?” 

What the hell did this woman want from me? Blood?

She placed a hand on my shoulder to keep me from shrugging again. “Why didn't you tell me, Sam?” 

“It just kind of happened.” 

“I haven't been around much.” 

Also that. “It’s okay.” 

“It's not. I've been so caught up in trying to get you out of here.” She tapped my leg, comfort at first, then nosiness. “Are you shaving?” 

I yanked a sheet over my lap. “What do you want?”

“So, you like girls now?” 

“I don't know, Mom. Maybe.” 

I’d been asking himself the same question for months and hadn’t come up with a better answer. Sex with Abby felt good and there were girls in the school who were crazy hot. But no one captured my attention like Dean.

“Your dad is going to be so sorry he missed this,” she said. “He called it.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He figured that you would start having sex this year.”

“You guys are so weird.” 

“Do you mind if I tell him?” 

“Whatever.” I picked up the Bible.

My mother snatched it. “Don’t read that. It’s garbage. When's the last time you wrote your father?”

I shrugged again. It had been months. I was resolved never to do it again.

My mother stood and pointed to the gift. “You gonna open it?” 

I sighed and unzipped the bag. 

“It’s for your interview.”

It was for my funeral. Because I would never dress this way myself, and she knew it.

“At least, try it on?” 

The suit was well made: sleek, gray satin with slim-fitted pants that accentuated my long, skinny legs. Classic jacket. I looked dignified and smart. But like someone else.

My mother stood behind me and pinned back my hair. It probably cost more than she should have spent. I tried very hard to like it. “What do you think?” 

What I thought was that my mother knows me, she just doesn’t want to. My parents wanted a boy. They painted the nursery blue the day of the first sonogram. When I was born, the doctor made their dream a reality and then I took that away from them. 

“It’s okay.” I shrugged off the jacket.

She hung it back on the hanger, trying to conceal her disappointment. “So, you want to wear a dress?” 

“No. Not necessarily.” 

I would have appreciated the option, but it was out of the question. My parents’ policy was established when I was a toddler. Dolls, sewing, horses - yes, around the house. Skirts, tutus, dresses - never. Pink shirts and flower prints - fine. Makeup - absolutely not. They vocally rejoiced when I settled on darks and neutral colors.

All their friends were Prius-driving, Green party voting progressives. Half their friends were gay and the other half were pot-growing swingers. But I apparently broke the liberal camel’s back. In principle, they believed that I should be allowed to be myself, but they were also convinced that one false move would send me the way of St. Matthew.


	11. Chapter 11

Stephen Miller was nearly as good looking as Dean, with his caramel eyes, wavy corn silk hair and teeth always showing like a cat stuffed on canaries.

No wonder he grinned, the boy had power. Whatever happened between him and Abby was in middle school, but she still talked about him every day. As Dean’s best friend since kindergarten,  
Stephen also had the one veto that could destroy my chances.

They met outside my store, exchanged some dopey handshake and Stephen lit Dean’s cigarette from his own. It bobbed between his lips as he talked, like the hero from some 1950’s racing classic. To keep from dying of suspense, I ducked behind a partition, stripped the shelves and began restocking. First candy bars, then peanuts. Maybe Stephen was a allergic and I could use them to defend myself.

I was working on condiments when the bell over the door rang. I froze, clutching the mustard for stability. Duty demanded I stand to be sure it wasn’t a real customer.

Stephen Miller stalked over and stared like he was waiting for an answer. When he didn’t speak I asked, “Can I help you?”

My voice was brave and belligerent, even as my guts churned.

Stephen eye-frisked me until my face burned. Throwing things and yelling to get lost would not work in my favor, so I stood still and let him take full inventory. I stared at the wall and grinded my teeth.

“What happened to your face?”

Still holding the mustard, I crossed my arms. It was none of his damn business. Also, I was not about to tell Stephen Miller that I got busted up sparring with my grandfather.

“What do you want?”

He scanned me one more time before he pushed open the door with both hands and crowed, “No way, man. Still a bitch.”

***

I handed the menu to the waitress and thanked her. When she walked away, Dean was staring at me with his chin in his hand. I rearranged the sugar packets to keep from meeting his eyes.

“This place okay?” he asked.

I’d never been in a Culver’s before. It wasn’t the kind of place my parents would ever eat, but it was pleasant in a squeaky vinyl booths and all-you-can-eat buffet option way.

“‘’Cause we could go somewhere else?”

“We just ordered, Dean.”

“So?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s nice.”

“Just want you to be ... you know. Want you to like it.” He drummed the table with his fingers. “It’s not super classy like, I guess, whatever you have in DC.”

“I like it.”

Culver’s in Lawrence, Kansas will forever be the location of my first date. I couldn’t think of any place better.

“And your face,” Dean reached across the table and brushed his thumb over my cheek. “I swear, I’m going to kill Adam.”

“It’s really not his fault,” I said, recovering from the internal combustion. “I um, I tripped over something. Kind of clumsy sometimes.”

It was bullshit that sounded like bullshit, so I shut up. Dean sifted through the songs on the tabletop jukebox.

“You like Luke Bryan?”

I’d never heard of him.

Dean’s eyes shot open. “You never heard Luke Bryan?”

I shielded my face with my hand as the people nearest our table turned toward the shouting.

“Sorry.”

He reached across the table again. I slipped my hand away and dropped it in my lap.

Dean laughed at the rejection and retreated. “Okay. What do you like?”

It seemed safest to maintain silence, as well as distance.

“Come on. I’m not going to say anything. Just tell me.”

“Pop, mostly.” Now, leave me alone.

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “Pop can be cool. Who’s your favorite singer?”

He wasn’t going to leave me alone, so I turned to tell the ketchup. “Taylor Swift.”

His face contorted as he pinned his lips together and held in his opinion with his hand. He shook like a volcano on the verge of eruption until he blurted, “She sucks,” and covered his mouth again.

Then, he threw his hands up and stopped trying to be polite.

“She’s not country. Never was. Never will be. She’s just crap.”

I slid off the bench, ignoring the mean scrape from the ripped plastic seat and marched toward the door. Mom was working. Campbell didn’t drive at night, so I’d be walking home from Lawrence.

“Sorry. Sam,” Dean rushed around and blocked the door. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

I folded my arms and refused to look at him.

“I don’t like Taylor Swift. She’s the only music I don’t like,” he said. “And rap and classical. And jazz and shit like that.”

“I didn’t say she was country.”

“I’m sorry, okay? Will you come sit down? Please?”

It would have been a good time for a bathroom escape if I didn’t avoid those like cholera. Dean tried to take my hand, but I jerked away. Didn’t need his help finding the table or the distraction of touching him.

Culver’s was packed. So, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when someone waved and called his name. My stomach hollowed out as a sunshine girl bounced over, hugged him and coiled herself around his arm, turning her back to me.

Dean extricated himself and placed his hand on my waist. “Krista, you know Sam?”

She looked me over, batted her eyes and chirped, “Come say hi to my dad.”

“I’ll see your daddy at the shop. Tell him his piece of shit Volvo is due for an oil change.”

The girl tittered, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and skipped back to her family. Dean and her father exchanged a salute as he lead me back to our seats.

He’d probably dated that girl. Probably slept with her. She’d probably counted the moles on his chest and scraped her fingers down his back. She probably had a pretty, pink pussy that Dean had loved to eat out and sink into.

As I wound myself into an ever tighter knot a coin clinked into the slot and made the jukebox yodel about trucks. Dean nodded along and sang under his breath. I cast a longing gaze at the exit. This whole thing had been a classic Sam Cohen mistake.

He probably took her out in the Impala

“Did you like the movie?”

Got her naked, licked her tits, fingered her

“So, now you hate me again?”

One of the most frustrating things about Dean Winchester, besides his mouth, was his mouth - and his irritating eyes watching like I was the only person in the place.

“It was kind of violent,” I said and plucked at my thumbnail, longing to chomp the shit out of it.

“So, what do you like? Rom coms, that kind of thing?”

I moved the salt and pepper between us on the table. If I didn’t focus on something other than that girl’s vagina I was going to combust.

“More like Sci-fi.”

Dean claimed the pepper. “I can get into some alien action.”

I clinked the bottom of the salt against it to initiate battle.

“Alternate timelines, other dimensions,” I said. “Superheroes. I love superheroes. That kind of stuff.”

As Dean’s pepper dodged and counter-attacked, he punctuated his moves with ninja sound effects. “Yah. Next time, you pick. Heeyah.”

“Next time?” I groaned and laid my slain salt in the center of the table.

Dean set aside his victorious pepper, unfolded a napkin and shrouded the corpse of the fallen salt warrior.

“Yeah. Tomorrow, if you want.”

I laughed. “You want to drive all the way out here again tomorrow?”

“I would,” he said. “Or we could do something else.”

“I have to ask my mom.”

It was a lie. My mother was always working. I hadn’t told her I was going out that night and had only  
said ‘bye’ to Campbell as I left.

“I'll ask her myself, if you want.”

I moved my arms to make space for my milkshake.

“Thanks, Lauren.” Dean smiled at the waitress.

She had to be twenty years older than we were, but that didn’t stop her touching his ear with the straw before she handed it over.

If I was going to spend the entire night worrying over women and girls Dean Winchester had or  
might possibly fuck, I might as well go in the bathroom and commit Harikari with a butter knife.

Instead of doing either, I decided to enjoy the revelation of icy vanilla on my tongue.

Dean grinned. “If that ain’t a sight."

He was the sight, in a crisp, white shirt with the pale green perpendicular stripes. He looked like a country music superstar. All he needed was the guitar. Following my gaze, Dean looked down at himself and tightened the jade bolo tie.

"My dad's. You like it?"

It was impossible not to like it. And I was dressed like a hobo in my uniform of plain white t-shirt and ripped shorts.

The waitress brought my turkey, taters and veggie platter at the same time she delivered Dean’s burgers and fries. Starving, I spread a napkin over my lap and began to slice the meat.

“Where are you going to put all that?”

I dropped my fork. “Are you trying to say something specific?”

Dean shook his head and took a huge bite of his burger, possibly to stop himself from talking.

“Do you think I’m too skinny?”

“I didn’t say that,” he spoke through his mouthful of food, solemnly shaking his head.

“But you do.”

I’ve always been rail-thin: the kind of figure that topples over in high winds. Dean might have thought I was a late bloomer, or that he was going to massage my tits into being, but curves were not in my future. I didn’t even miss them most of the time.

I glanced over at his friend, the one with the fair hair, and the perky cleavage in her low-cut blouse. If Dean liked voluptuous, I would never deliver, at least not naturally.

“I think you’re...”

Dean inhaled another bite.

I closed my eyes. Why had I agreed to this? Where was it going to go? All the way Nowhere.

I was not what Dean wanted. I never could be. Not even if I underwent every surgical improvement known to man.

My usually overactive appetite died. I tossed my napkin onto the plate and bit my lip to keep from crying.

“Sam, I...” Dean put down his burger. “You’re going to get mad at me for saying this, but I think you’re fucking hot.”

***

I leaned over and unlocked Dean’s door while he jogged around boots clicking on the pavement. He rolled down his window and the car became less of a furnace.

I let the warm wind whip my hair around my face. Dean tugged on a strand and I leaned away.

“You still don't want me to touch you?”

“It's not that I don't want you to.”

“But I'm not allowed.”

It didn't matter whether Dean Winchester touched me or not. Every time he looked at me, my insides roiled and my body threatened to out me.

He slipped the car into fifth and twiddled his fingers on the gear shift before he turned over his palm.

“Can I hold your hand?”

I would have given anything to say yes. Up to that point, it was just a movie and dinner. He could always say we were hanging out. Deny that there was anything else. If I held his hand, we entered the next level where I really should tell him.

I shook my head and stared out of the window.

***

When Dean’s brake lights flashed red at the end of the street, I stooped beside my mother’s driver side mirror and used a baby wipe to clean the lipstick and eyeliner, in case Campbell was still awake.

The old man was asleep in his La-Z-Boy. My mother’s feet were up on the coffee table, lap blanketed and a steaming mug in her hand. The 10:00 news flashed mutely from the screen.

“Where have you been?”

“Why are you home?” I stood by the closed front door so she couldn’t smell that I’d pilfered her perfume.

“Blake didn't want me coughing on the customers,” she said. "Your turn.”

“I was out.”

“With?”

Why was she treating me a like a little kid? “A friend.”

“You know, it sounds like Abby's parents are pretty serious about --”

“It wasn't Abby. It was someone else.”

She coughed into her fist. “Does 'someone else' have a name?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes. “He's just a nameless blob of skin.”

“He?”

I sighed and shifted my weight onto one hip, arms crossed, ready to storm out at the first sign of  
lameness. “Are you going to make a big thing out of this?”

“No, I am not - I am merely going to ask my son -”

I turned toward my room.

“Daughter? Oh, Sam.” Mom winced and checked whether Campbell had heard. “Not here.  
Baby, it’s not safe.”

“Mom. I'm as much a girl as I’m not.” I wiped a strand of hair behind my ear.

“But you're not, Sammy. You ... This boy...”

“Dean.” I savored the taste of his name.

“Dean. You trust him?”

“Yes. I do.”

It was like taking marriage vows.

Mom sighed, hands folded in her lap, studying the nightly news for a kernel of wisdom. “Do you think you'll see him again?”

“We're going fishing tomorrow.”

That earned a smile. “You're going fishing?”

“Is that so unbelievable?”

I was more likely to be in my room drawing than in the wilderness, but I’d never been a complete princess. Did she think a little fishing was going to break me?

She snickered. “What time?”

“Early.”

“Fine. Then, I’ll see you both early.”

Safe inside my room, I blockaded the door and stripped to my panties: pretty white ones with ruffles around the thighs - over the control tops, of course.

Still no air. I swiped sweat beads from my forehead and dragged my sketchbook from under the bed: outlined the Impala, Dean in front of it with a hand in his pockets. Infernal half-smirk and his father’s bolo.

I drew myself beside him, in a knee-length dress with spaghetti straps. I started with comic book tits, erased and pared down to a modest pair. B cups. My hand was tucked into Dean’s.

I slipped the book back under the bed, switched off the lamp and snuggled under my sheet despite  
the heat.

With my eyes closed, Dean’s were bright as emeralds. My hands wrung over my belly, thumb over thumb so that the fingers of my right hand could caress the back of my left. I twined my fingers together, as if in prayer. Then, I twisted one hand around and made the fingers grip one another, like I was going to sing in a recital.

Would it be like this to hold his hand?

I massaged my slender thighs, digging in on the upstroke. My thumb brushed the head of my cock. Would it have to gross him out? After all, he’s got the same.

I rubbed my ribs, tweaked my nipple. Troubled my leg until the stroking burned. Then rested my hand on my rapidly rising and falling stomach.

Probably, though, he’d be disgusted. Certainly wouldn’t see me the same. And if he ever caught me jerking off, he’d never talk to me again.

So I wouldn’t. Not ever. I’d train myself not to need it.

I whimpered and pinched my nipple until pain blurred and overpowered the lust. Then, I turned my face into the pillow and cried myself to dreaming.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean tucked his baseball cap under his arm before he stepped into the house and extended a hand. “Mornin’ Mrs. Campbell.”  

“I’m under the weather.” My mother declined his offer to shake. “And it’s Cohen.” 

“Right. Mrs. Cohen.”  

“And you're Dean.” Her voice wavered like she was on the cusp of crying or screaming.  

“Yes, ma'am.”  

“So, y’all heading out to Perry Lake, pullin’ in sunfish or bass?”  

“Whatever I can get, ma’am.” Dean smiled. “Any luck, both. Caught a 4 lbs. crappie last time I was 

out there.”  

My mother’s expression was sincere admiration. “Well, you bring in one of those, I’ll batter and fry it for you. Make a nice potato salad.” 

“That’s a deal, ma’am.” 

How long you reckon y'all be out there?  

Who was this woman and what language was she speaking? 

“Til we fill the pail, or Sam starts to complain.” 

“Well, that oughtn't take too long.”  

Enough lame commiseration. “Can we go?” 

“Is there a time she needs to be back, ma’am?” 

“What?”

My mother winced at Dean’s hand on my back or the pronoun or both. I pleaded with my eyes and  waited for her to destroy my life with a few words. 

Dean repeated, “Does Sam need to be back by a certain time?”  

“No.” My mother coughed. “You two have a very limited amount of fun.”  

We sailed down the road, Dean replaced his cap, and I covered giggles with my hand.  

“What? You don’t like it?” He placed it on my head. “There.”  

He laughed and pulled onto the interstate. “Now, I don’t know what they got in Washington DC, but out here, you gotta watch out for Cottonmouths, Timber Rattlers, Diamondbacks --”  

My back pocket buzzed. There was only one person it could be.  

 

MOM: Handsome, but I know the type. He’s a cowboy, Sam. The kind you don't tread on  

ME: I'm not treading on him

 

Dean glanced over. “That your mom? Did I not nail the introduction?”  

“She's just a worrier.” 

“Tell her you're in very capable, highly experienced hands.”  

“I don't think that's going to be much comfort.”  

 

MOM: How old is he? 

 

I sighed and asked, “How old are you? 

“19.”  

It would have been very easy to lie, but if she found out some other way, I’d be toast.

 

ME: OK. Chill. He’s 19 

MOM: I hate it, Sam. On so many levels 

ME: Noted. I’m muting my phone now. Go back to sleep

 

Dean switched lanes and said, “You’re probably wondering why I’m 19, just getting out of school.”  

I hadn’t wondered until he said that.  

“Ol’ Laurel had her own ideas about things. That was my mother.”  

I’d figured as much.  

“She filled in some kind of paperwork that said she was going to teach me and Adam at home. Pretty much all we ever did was run around in the woods. My dad was, you know, overseas and nobody ever caught on til I was 7, and Pastor Wright realized I didn’t even know my ABCs.”  

He shrugged and signaled a turn. 

 

*** 

 

It was shortly after dawn and already a sweltering 90 degrees. The frogs and crickets sang their love songs while I rested on the upturned bucket.  

Dean splashed through the surface of the water and wiped his face. “Come on. 

What are you, on your period?”  

I sneered and lied, “I don’t know how to swim.”  

“I’ll show you. You don’t even have to get all the way in. Just wade with me.” He bobbed in the water.  

“Are you even allowed to swim here?” 

I stirred Dean’s bowl of bait with a stick to keep from staring as he emerged from the lake. At one point, I made the mistake of looking at him stroll across the pebbled sand, outshining the morning sun, boxers clinging. Water dripped from the hair plastered to his forehead. He smirked and picked up his pace.  

“Seriously, Dean. Don’t.”  

I scrambled to my feet and ran. 

“Come on, Sammy.”  

I glanced over my shoulder and my bare foot snagged on a root. Dean crashed into me, laughing with his cold, wet arms clamped around my chest. He kissed my ear and I yelled, “No!”  

I jutted back my hips, grabbed Dean’s wrist, ducked and hoisted him over my shoulder. Campbell would be proud. Panting, I stared down at his shocked face, then trudged away.

By the time Dean caught up, I’d sat under a tree cradling my head in my hands. It was beyond stupid to come out to the wilderness with some boy. All boys want one thing. No one knows that better than I do. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered and eased down beside me. “Hey. I’m sorry.”  

“Just leave me alone.”  

I stood and he caught my hand, stood, and nestled against my back.  

“Sam. Sammy, come on. Don’t be mad at me.” He buried his face in my hair. “I was just playing with you, okay? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. Okay?” 

His arm crept around my waist, nearness making me shiver.  

“Am I cold?”  

I nodded. He was freezing, and it was time to tell him.  

“You want me to leave you alone?”  

I nodded, again although it was the last thing I wanted.  

He drew back my hair and pressed his warm mouth to my neck. “You want me to go away and leave you alone, Sammy? Huh? Is that what you want?”  

His semi was pressed to my ass. I seized his wrist to keep his fingers away from my stiff nipple. “Please.”  

“Sammy, I’m never going to hurt you. I swear.”  

I trembled. “I said no.”  

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed against my shoulder. Then, he let me go and walked away. 

 

***

 

Dean walked around to the trunk to collect the cooler of fish he’d brought my mother. On the top step, Abby watching without responding to my wave. This was not good. 

“Hey, Fl … How’s it going, Abby?” 

“Hey, Dean.” Her mouth hung open. “Sam?”

“Hey.” 

We all stood in silence for a moment before Dean said, “Well, I better roll. Save me some, yeah?” 

I nodded. Dean waved at Abby and she watched his car until he’d cleared the corner. Then she stared from the fish cooler to me, and back up the street. 

“So, are you off punishment?” 

I asked at the same time Abby asked, 

“Are you going out with Dean Winchester?” 

So, we weren’t going to mince words. I braced myself for the fallout. She had every right to tear into me and rip a new one. I was lucky she hadn’t spewed my beans all over Dean while he was standing here. It was a miracle her father hadn’t already told half the town. Instead, it would be Abby. That was bitter justice. I didn’t even have the heart to beg her not to do it. 

Abby shook her head and asked, “Is he a good kisser?”

 

***

 

The A/C was still busted, making my room was uninhabitable. Abby eventually snuck back home and left me alone on the porch with a letter from my dad. 

 

_ Hey Splash Gordon,  _

_ You probably don’t read these, but some occasions require a salute.  _

_ First of all, your mom told me about Abby.  _

_ Welcome to manhood! Or womanhood. Both?  _

_ So, does this make you a lesbian or does it mean you’re thinking a little bit harder about what I said? (The pun just happened. What can I say? Your old man’s a cunning linguist.)  _

_ Man, would I love a play by play. You could always send a drawing. I got to know what the girl looks like who deflowered my boy.  _

_ I’ll have you know, I have not yet dropped the soap. But there is this Samoan guy who keeps asking me to dance.  _

_ Despite my growing popularity, jail sucks. Behave yourself!  _

_ Mom says you’ve adjusted well to Kansas, which doesn’t surprise me at all. A job, huh? Another huge deal.  _

  1. _Always arrive on time2. Go above and beyond. Aim to impress yourself3. Remember it’s a means to an end. You work to live, not the other way around_



_ Speaking of huge deals: the fact that Interlochen called you in to interview is an indication of an intelligent faculty.  _

_ I know you’re thinking about tuition. And I want you to stop thinking about tuition. You go, give a kick-ass interview, which means, be your kickass self. Let me and your mom worry about the rest.  _

_ I’d be thrilled to hear from you if you feel like writing. I understand if you don’t. I love you and I’m proud of you. _

_ Daddy/Dad/Matt/Jerkwad - whatever you’re calling me these days  _

_ PS: Don’t give your mom a hard time. She’s doing her best.  _

 

Like always, I thought about writing back, but it wasn’t going to happen. Even thinking about it made me misty. I folded the paper and locked it in the steel box with the others. 

I was flipping through the Bible when a rusty, blue pickup parked beside Campbell’s truck. A burly man with dark, unkempt hair lumbered towards me. I could’ve run into the house, but I stood.  

He halted at the foot of the steps, cleared his throat and still spoke like he’d been gargling with glass.  

“You know who I am?”  

I nodded.  

Johnny Winchester let out a raspy breath. “You look like her. Got his hair, I guess.” 

My pulse doubled its speed and volume in my ears. His drink stank from ten feet. 

“I should have been your father. She ever tell you that?”  

No one was cutting grass, or sitting on the porch shooting the shit. Campbell was asleep in his 

La-Z-Boy. I was on my own, fists curling. 

“You been at my house.” John Winchester’s whiskey-raw voice was still low. 

This man beat his sons. There was no question that he'd hit me if I let him. We were the same height, but he weighed three times what I did. I’d have to keep him at bay and tire him out. It’d be my only chance. 

“You’re Dean’s lil piece’a ass. You have any idea how ironic that shit is?”  

He spat on the pavement. A flare went off in my chest as his voice raised.

“He here, too? Your father?  He in there somewhere? Huh? You a fucking mute?”  

I took a deep breath, fingers aching with the tension. I softened my knees, ready to lunge as John Winchester's foot shadowed the first step. The screen door screeched open and Campbell stumbled onto the porch. 

They probably both heard me exhale. 

“Hey, John-boy. Sight for sore eyes, son.”  

Campbell eased down the steps, gripping the handle for balance. Some days he was spry and fierce, other days he moved like an older man than he was. He held out his hand to shake Winchester’s.  

“Come on around back, Johnny.”  

John glared at me, but he followed my grandfather.  

I sank onto the step trying to regulate my uneven breath. By the time I’d mustered the bravery to wander out back, the men were nursing beers.  

“Come, drink, Sam.” Campbell beckoned, having regained some of his vigor.  

When I took his side, he cracked open a bottle and shoved it at me. 

“You know this man right here is a hero, Sam? Served in the Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. What’s your dad serving? Five to ten?”  

Campbell slapped his thigh, cackling at his own joke. John Winchester didn’t even smile.  

“He may not look like it, but Sam here is quite the little warrior himself.” 

My heart stopped and Winchester’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard it plain as day. And that loudmouth Campbell wasn’t close to finished. 

“No thanks to his fucking father. If it’d been left up to Cohen, the boy’d be making dresses for 

Beyonce’.”  

John Winchester’s brow tweaked, a storm brewing in his black eyes, but he still didn’t say a word. 

“Campbell.” I wordlessly begged him to shut the fuck up. 

The rest of the summer flashed before my eyes. There would be an ass-kicking. And there would be dicks: painted on our front door, on the wall at my job, on my mother’s car. 

The Interlochen interview couldn’t come fast enough. Worst case scenario, if they rejected me, I knew how to use a gun and wouldn’t hesitate to suck on the barrel.  

My grandfather slung an arm over my shoulder and playfully cuffed my ribs.  

“What, boy? It’s just the plain truth. If your father were any kind of man, he’d have thrashed this queer shit out of you at the start. Am I right, Johnny?” 

  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

My phone didn’t ring often. Abby still wasn’t allowed to talk to me, so it could only have been my mother or Dean. She never called from work.

I didn’t need to hear whatever mean things he had to say, so I let it go to voicemail.

When the phone stopped ringing, I turned it off and hid it under my pillow just as the landline rang. That had to be coincidence; there was no way he was calling the house.

Just in case, I ran to the kitchen and jerked the cable from the wall.

“Who is it?” Campbell hollered from his LA-Z-Boy.

“Nobody.”

It was useless hiding.In two days, I’d be due back at work, next door to the place where Dean worked. I couldn’t avoid him forever.

But I could avoid him that afternoon. The next time saw him, I’d hold my head up and let him call me whatever he wanted. If he hit me, I’d quit that stupid job and never leave the house until my interview. If I came across him and Stephen and a band of goons, I could outrun them. If they tried to bother me in here, Campbell would stick the barrel of his rifle out the front window and give them a count of one.

Three weeks, and I’d be free. Interlochen would accept me because I had to get out of Kansas.

I settled on the sofa flipping through the Bible while my grandfather alternated between snoring and salivating over Wheel of Fortune reruns.

“Campbell, do you ever pray?”

He squinted at me and muted the TV. “Your grandmother prayed enough for the two of us. Spent half her damn time in that Methodist church. If you’re looking for God, He might be in there. And if there’s a Heaven, I reckon she’s in it.”

“Do you believe in the devil?”

I asked because I was sure he’d laugh it off. Instead, he nodded and said, “Seen the bastard myself. You look in a man’s eyes when it’s kill or be killed. You’ll see the devil, too.”

“You ever read this?”

He regarded the Bible with the same dubious scowl he cast at the newspaper. “There’s some good stuff in there. Some nonsense. You got to pick and choose.”

Just like that, he was all eyes for Vanna White again.

I was rereading a psalm for the third time when there was a knock.

“Who the hell is that?”

I stared at the door. There was no way I’d answer it.

“Well, go get it, Sam.”

I couldn’t budge.

Campbell’s tossed pretzel hit my cheek. “Get up, boy.”

It snapped me out of it enough to stand. Another knock stopped my feet.

“If it’s Jehovah’s Witness, shoot ‘em."

Of course, it was probably Girl Scouts. Or Mormons. Anybody but Dean.

Except that it was Dean, facing the road, running his hand over his hair and leaning up to the window to see if he could peek in.

Campbell was a shout away, and it was better to face Dean here than at work. So I clenched my jaw and opened the door.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Where you been?”

I stood my ground, silent, awaiting the attack.

“I been calling you.”

That wasn’t what I expected. “My phone’s dead.”

“Both of ‘em?”

He didn’t know. His father had probably been passed out drunk.

“You’re driving me nuts, Sam. I got to come down here on my 20-minute lunch break and hunt you down?” Dean stopped pacing and looked at me. “Did I do something?”

“What?”

“You still talking to me? I mean, was it the…I swear, I won’t touch you if you don’t want.”

“No.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. I didn’t even know what I meant by that. I covered my mouth, struggling to pull myself together.

“You need a new phone or something? ‘Cause I’d like to be able to reach you?” Dean glanced at his watch. “Shit. I got to head back. I just wanted to…you okay?”

I nodded and wiped the stupid tear from cheek.

He stepped forward, leaning as if he would hug me, then changed his mind. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

I shook my head, certain I would bawl if I tried to speak.

“You doing anything Wednesday?”

***

My mother knocked and entered while I was shimmying into my customary cut-off jean shorts. She held out my favorite item in her closet: a white sundress that twirled like a daydream. Back in Maryland, when no one was home, sometimes I’d put it on and prance around the house. She blamed me for changing her hips and bust so it didn’t even fit her anymore, but it was too glorious to let go.  

She was offering me that dress.

“Are you serious?”

I tore off the plain white tee and my mother’s eyes flicked to the pink training bra. I’d bought it with my money and I was allowed to wear fancy underwear. She stared at the crack in the ceiling while I shrugged into the dress.

Fabulous, except for my bird chest. No matter which way I turned, folded my arms, or bunched my elbows together, the most I’d get was a tiny bulge in the muscle.

“We could pad you.”

I shook my head and fluffed my fingers through my hair until it covered my jaw. The baby fat was receding fast, leaving me edgier and more angular every day.

Mom left the room as I slid my hands down my body again, spinning to watch the hem fly. She returned with the treasure chest.

“Seriously?”

“It’s kind of an occasion, isn’t it?” She patted the bed. “Sit still and close your eyes.”

Fabric fluttered over my chest and I tilted my face toward the tickle of the brushes and the cool gloss on my lips. The acid- sharp of lacquer filled the room as she painted fingers and toes, then blended with the soft-warm of vanilla perfume on my neck and wrists.

“You want to wear my sandals?”

“Are you serious?”

A chill swept over my body and the tears just happened.

“Shit. Sammy. Stop it.” My mother dabbed a tissue against my face. “This foundation is good, but if you cry, you will look like a freak show.”

She preened the pretty girl in the mirror until Dean knocked. I sucked in a huge gust of air and flapped my hands like a nervous chicken. She laid a calming hand on my arms.

“You'll be fine. You’re going to behave like a young lady with a nickel between her knees.”

“Mom!”

“Sam, he knows, right?”

Silence was an answer.

“Do you need me to do it?”

“No! I’ll tell him tonight.”

When I opened the door, Dean’s eyes went wide. “Wow.”

I lowered my warming face.

He leaned in the door, clouding my brain with cologne, smoke, and Dean scent.

“Hey, Mrs. C.”

“She’s helping Campbell.”

She was distracting him, but whatever.

Dean opened the car door for me, then jogged around. Before he started the car, he looked me over again. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks.”

The Impala purred awake. The coolest boy on earth ran a hand through his hair, grinned at me and said, “Let’s roll.”

 

*******

 

Dean faced the sky as if confessing to the stars. “I have to tell you something.”

He knew.

His father had told him I’m a boy, and he had dragged me out to murder me.

We were only a few blocks from Campbell’s, but the rest of town had gathered in the field at the high school. With all the racket from the fireworks, he could riddle me with bullets and no one would know until they found my body.

But why would he buy me burgers first? And keep gazing at me.

It was a mind game. He was toying with his prey, like a cat.

And I was at his mercy in a deserted funeral parlor parking lot. His shoulders were stiff, and he’d sat down so far away - five or six inches (a million miles) - on the blanket that he spread over the hood of his sin-black ‘67 Impala. Preparing to end me.

I sat on my hands and waited for my punishment. Like the devil, I was a filthy liar who deserved to suffer and bleed for my transgressions, if that was Dean’s will.

For the moment, he watched the fireworks.

Every explosion racked my bones. I tucked my arms under my giraffe legs, rested bony chin on knobby knees. Dean’s pointer finger trailed down the side of my calf and goosebumps burst all over my body.

“That okay?”

I nodded.

A flashing fountain of white disappeared behind a cloud. I traced my hand over the warm glimmer where he’d touched me. He brushed his knuckles over my cheek, kicking up fresh heat.

“You got to tell me when to stop, okay?”

“It’s fine.”

It was torture before the slaughter.

“You weird me out, Sam.”

I winced. There it was.

“I don't mean...” Dean’s eyes closed. “I mean... Shit.”

He hopped down from the hood and offered a hand.

There’s a scripture:

**_... thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall lead thee whither thou wouldest not._ **

 

“Please?”

I laid the tips of my fingers in the center of his palm, a willing sacrifice, impure despite the white dress.

“You think you’re still growing?”

I was an inch taller, even in my mother’s flats. Dean wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest, breathing warm on my ear. “Listen, I have to tell you...”

The closeness was a cruelty worse than death. Whatever followed would be mercy.

He lowered his hands to my hips and swayed us back and forth. A soft buzz against my chest grew into a quiet hum. It took a moment to recognize the song: Love Story. My whole body lit up brighter than the sky.

\- Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone

I mouthed the lyrics and ruined my makeup.

Raindrops piddled soft percussion on the roof of Dean’s car. One tapped my shoulder. Another landed on my cheek. The rain mingled with my tears, kissed me all over and I tilted back my head for more.

“I never felt like this about anybody before, Sam.” He kissed my cheek. “You’re all fragile and fearless and…”

And the answer to Abby’s question was Yes. Dean Winchester was perfect, and patient, and our first kiss made me want to die, because nothing would ever be better.

 

***

 

My eyes closed and Dean stared back with his cocky half-smile. Cologne and sweat muddling my senses.

I banged my head back against the mattress.

If I’d stayed in his arms he would’ve kissed my neck. Softly. Might have burrowed his face against that hollow spot where shoulder meets neck, and sucked his mark onto my collarbone.

I traced my fingers over the place where I imagined his mouth. Breath easing through parted lips, I massaged that groove and stretched my head away to allow the touch.

Dean would nuzzle behind my ear - right in the same spot where I rubbed myself while my other hand stroked my cock. Restraint be damned. Dean Winchester had kissed me.

My eyes squeezed shut as my thumb collected a trickle of pre-come to ease the glide.

Dean would nibble my ear, the same way I tugged my lobe and pinched lightly all the way up the shell. He’d kiss my temple. I rested my face in my hand and cupped my cheek like he would.

My fingers smeared over my lips and shoved between my teeth. I pressed down on my tongue and sucked until it hurt and jerked like a maniac.

My toes curled. So close. What else?

Dean humming. His cheek against mine. His finger sliding down my calf.

My body clenched and I released his name along with the slimy mess that dribbled over my fingers. A wave of pleasure and a moment of relaxation before I'd have to get up or wipe the gunk onto the side of my mattress. Exhausted, I opted for the latter, flipped onto my stomach and groaned.

“So gross.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taylor Swift's 'Fearless.'  
> The song that inspired this scene and ultimately, the fic.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptSjNWnzpjg


	14. Chapter 14

I knocked on the main office door. A grey-haired woman looked up from her desk and dropped her glasses onto their chain.

“Help you, darling?”

“Um, yes,” I held out the huge Bible as proof I deserved to be in the building.

“Excuse me, I think my grandmother used to go here? Clara Campbell?”

“I haven’t heard that name in ages.” She pushed out her seat and ambled close enough to tilt my chin toward the ceiling. “You’re Clara’s grandchild? Of course, you are. Look at those eyes. She was a beauty, too.”

I followed the woman down the hall.

“He’d deny it now, but my brother was so in love with Clara Miller when we were around your age.”

She took an eternity to navigate the stairs. I rushed ahead to hold the door so she could exit the building.

“Thank you, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Sam.”

“Of course. That girl always loved her daddy.” She chuckled. “Soon as I heard Mary Campbell was home, I said just wait until Johnny Winchester gets wind. Now that’ll be a storm to reckon with. He about ripped this town in half when she left.”

So far, tropical Storm Johnny had blown over without causing any damage at all.

The woman stopped in the middle of the graveyard and pointed. Sure enough, a small stone marked Clara Miller Campbell: Loving Wife and Mother.

One day, my skin would be rotting off my bones in a hole beneath a stone. But there’d never be a grandchild overhead listening to tales of how some boy used to adore me, because I’d never have kids. I’d be lucky if anybody tolerated me once they knew what I was.

The old woman put a soft hand on my shoulder, apparently thinking I was mourning this lady I never knew.

“She’s not in that grave now," she assured me. "She’s with the Lord.”

Great for Grandma Clara, but what did it have to do with me.

“Are you saved, Samantha?”

~

Mrs. Carter gave me permission to fill my name and my father’s in Clara’s Bible. She also confirmed that Stephen, son of Clara’s brother’s son was Dean’s best friend since kindergarten and my second cousin.

Dean worked late that evening, and I had nowhere else to be. So, when Mrs. Carter invited me to stay for women’s bible study, I helped her brew tea and coffee.

I was the youngest by decades, but that was perfect. There were things my peers were too immature to discuss, and I’d never go back to Pastor Jesse’s house. I could hardly wait for the group to assemble before I bombarded them with questions the book itself didn’t answer.

“So, do you all hate Jews?”

Mrs. Carter smiled. “We don’t hate anyone, Sam? Jesus Christ said to love thy neighbor—”

“However,” another woman interjected. “ When the Jews crucified our Lord and savior, they went from being the chosen people to losing God’s favor forever. That’s just biblical fact.”

“So, we lose God’s favor when we do evil things?”

It made perfect sense, but these ladies were the experts. All I wanted to know is whether there was hope for me.

“Well,” Mrs. Carter began. “All have sinned and come short of God’s glory.”

“So, what exactly happens to evil people?”

I’d heard about Hell, but the Bible was sparse on details.

“You’re not talking about yourself, Sam?”

“I, sometimes, do things that aren’t so good. Like, I lie.”

Kind of. The truth was, I hadn’t felt all the way like a girl since I was little kid, but I let people assume what was only half-true.

Mrs. Carter’s smile never faltered as she surveyed the group. “Whoever here has never lied, cast a stone.”

Okay, so I was in the clear about that. There was still the other thing.

My parents had always told me that masturbation was natural and healthy. But my father was in prison and my mother was working like a slave. Maybe they had no idea what was right. They’d never even taught me about sin.

“Sometimes, I, um… touch myself.”

I’d finally found a topic beyond Mrs. Carter’s kindness. Her smile fell and she looked at the others in the room. I steadied myself for a tongue-lashing.

“Anyone else ever done that?”

The woman who’d condemned the Jews chimed in. “Personally, I think that’s disgusting.”

“Some young ladies do that before they know better.” Mrs. Carter said. “You’re not evil, Sam. You’re a sinner, like every one of us. The selfsame minute you repent and cease to sully yourself you can ask the Lord’s forgiveness and avoid an eternity in Hell.”

 

*******

 

Campbell shuffled from his bedroom with a comically severe frown. “That is one unholy racket.” 

“It’s noon, old man. You ought to be up anyway,” I shouted over the rapid clacking of the sewing machine. 

He pointed a finger. “What did I tell you? Making dresses.” 

“It’s not a dress, you coot.” 

Campbell stumbled, but caught himself the edge of the sofa. It was going to be an old and feeble day. He snatched up my drawing and shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?” I lifted the presser foot and the clacking stopped.

“So, what is this? Some kind of circus outfit?” 

“I will take that as a compliment.” 

I inspected the seam, made an adjustment to my stitch and went back to work. 

My mother dragged into the house after midnight and I was still sewing. I hadn’t eaten, and had only taken two bathroom breaks when the alternative was piss on myself.

I smiled, waved and focused on the hem. 

She dropped her purse on the table beside the door and wandered over to check out my design. The paper fluttered from her hand and she pressed the off button. 

“You got this machine from a thrift store?” 

“No. Dean let me borrow it.”

“Why does Dean have Laurel Winchester’s sewing machine?” 

“It’s his mother’s.”

She dropped her face into both hands. “Jesus, Sam.”

It wasn’t the time to point out that she was using the Lord’s name in vain. I turned the machine back on and she jerked the cable from the socket. 

I marched around the table to plug it back in and she blocked the socket with her shorter, but broader body. I tried to reach around her and she knocked the machine to the floor.

“Are you insane?”

“We don’t accept anything from them.” 

I knelt to tend to the poor, abused machine - an innocent victim to my mother’s crazy. “It’s not a gift. He’s letting me borrow it. And you’ve probably broken it.” 

“You are done with this boy.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You are my child, Sam and I can tell you to stay the hell away from John Winchester and his demon spawn.”

“This town has a thousand people in it. Did you really think you'd avoid him the whole time we were here?” 

“Maybe not, but I didn’t expect you to fuck his son.”

Ephesians 6:1 -  _ Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.  _

I honored my mother by letting her have the final word. Then, I locked myself in my room and vowed to never speak to that stupid cunt again.

 

*******

Ephesians 4:32. -  _ Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. _

Ephesians were cool.

The Noonans were good Christians, which is why I knew they’d forgive me. 

I’d put on my best button-down shirt and my loosest jeans (and walked the long way that didn’t require passing the garage). I would die on the spot if Dean saw me like that.

If Mr. Noonan answered the door, I’d apologize for Campbell’s rude comment first. Mrs. Noonan would be easier. She’d understand that I never meant to lie to her. And that I didn’t mean to be weird, I just always was. 

I knocked and waited. When Abby’s mother finally opened the door, I extended the flowers with both hands.

From behind her, Abby shouted, “Sam, go home.” 

“You get upstairs,” her mother yelled.

She ignored my flowers and said, “You were asked not to come around here. I have called the sheriff to escort you off our property.”

“You called the police?”

I’d eaten dinner in this house a hundred times. This woman had thanked the Lord that I was her daughter’s friend. Did that change because of the sex or because I was different?

“You need to stay away from Abby. Something is very wrong with you.”

Mr. Noonan came around from the backyard with an  Armsel Striker-12 trained at my face. “You been warned.”

“Derrick!”

“Daddy!”

“He’s a goddamn animal.”

They were all screaming when the patrol car rounded the corner. By that point, I’d already trampled the bouquet and fled.    
  



	15. Chapter 15

Dean seemed to be the last person in town who didn’t know. Abby and her parents, Dean’s own father. Probably the entire police force. It was urgent that I come clean.

We sat shoulder to shoulder in his lookout. While he spun a tall tale about how his ancestors planting the forest, I practiced the lines in my mind.

Dean handed me his cigarette and peeled out of his damp t-shirt. As he reached for his smoke, I went off-script.

“That is such a stupid way to die.” 

He stood, dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. He slid back down beside me, smelling like an ashtray, smiling like an angel. “So, how do you want to die?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ... drown?” 

“Are you kidding me? You have any idea how much that shit would hurt?” 

Dean wrapped his hands around my throat. He didn’t apply pressure, only stared into my eyes. My body lit up like Christmas.

“Stop.” 

He dropped his hands. “I’m just messing with you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t like it.”

But my body loved it. It loved everything he did.

That was why I needed to open my portfolio and show him my comic: Gritslarn. My mother had it professionally printed for the interview at Interlochen, and it was the perfect segue.

“All right. Let’s see this.” Dean grinned as he read. “This is me, right?” 

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, this dude’s skin is red, probably ‘cause I’m hot?” 

“No.”

Technically there’s no commandment about lying.

He pointed to Thwesterchin, the Bandit’s, glowing green eyes, then to his own. As I lowered my face, Dean ran his finger down my cheek. “You’re the one with the red skin.” 

“It’s Vermillion. His color. ”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, well, pardon me, Ms. Vermillion. And this skin and bones creature is you?” 

“Gritslarn.” 

It was the issue where Gritslarn and the Oskaloosan bandit, Thwesterchin conquer an anthropomorphic black hole together. Dean didn’t bother trying to restrain his laughter. I elbowed him and closed it. 

“That’s why I don’t show people.” 

“No. It’s awesome. I just...” He took it back from my hand. “I never seen anything like it. You’re something else, you know?” 

“Yeah. About that.” I took a deep breath. “Dean, I am something else.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Hold on.” He leaned over and retrieved a beer from his cooler snapped open the bottle with his teeth and spat out the cap. “All right, go.”

“So, you know how—“

“Hey, dipshit!”

Both of our heads turned as Stephen Miller’s face emerged at the edge of the lookout. His smile fell when he saw me, but Dean helped him up and offered a beer.

“Naw, I’m not staying.”

“Don’t be like that, man. Sam’s cool.”

“Yeah?” Stephen scowled. “You should hear some of what Flabby Noonan’s got to say about your little girlfriend.”

My pulse thudded in my ears as Dean glanced over his shoulder at me.

“Why don’t you ask Sam about it?” Stephen snarled. “What kind of stories might Abby Noonan have to tell about you?”

It was a miracle she’d kept it secret so long, and no surprise that Stephen had been the one to wheedle it out of her. This just wasn’t the way I wanted Dean to find out. 

Stephen stalked closer and Dean held a hand between us, creating a barrier. 

“True or false, Noonans had to call the cops on you?”

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. There was nothing I could do, short of killing him, that would keep Stephen from telling. I could shout it first, but I had a whole script, and explanation, and Gritslarn.

“Listen, Dean,” I said. “Whatever he tells you—“

“Shut up, bitch.” 

“Hey,” Dean tapped Stephen’s chest. “You need to cool it, man.”

“I don’t understand why you’re still messing around with this titless skank?”

“Steve, I swear to God...”

“You said you were going to fuck her and be done with it?”

Dean only shoved once, but that was enough to send Stephen flying backward out of the lookout.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean seemed to be the last person in town who didn’t know. Abby and her parents, Dean’s own father. Probably the entire police force. It was urgent that I come clean.

We sat shoulder to shoulder in his lookout. While he spun a tall tale about how his ancestors planting the forest, I practiced the lines in my mind.

Dean handed me his cigarette and peeled out of his damp t-shirt. As he reached for his smoke, I went off-script.

“That is such a stupid way to die.”

He stood, dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. He slid back down beside me, smelling like an ashtray, smiling like an angel. “So, how do you want to die?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ... drown?”

“Are you kidding me? You have any idea how much that shit would hurt?”

Dean wrapped his hands around my throat. He didn’t apply pressure, only stared into my eyes. My body lit up like Christmas.

“Stop.”

He dropped his hands. “I’m just messing with you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t like it.”

But my body loved it. It loved everything he did.

That was why I needed to open my portfolio and show him my comic: Gritslarn. My mother had it professionally printed for the interview at Interlochen, and it was the perfect segue.

“All right. Let’s see this.” Dean grinned as he read. “This is me, right?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, this dude’s skin is red, probably ‘cause I’m hot?”

“No.”

Technically there’s no commandment about lying.

He pointed to Thwesterchin, the Bandit’s, glowing green eyes, then to his own. As I lowered my face, Dean ran his finger down my cheek. “You’re the one with the red skin.”

“It’s vermillion. His color. ”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, well, pardon me, Ms. Vermillion. And this skin and bones creature is you?”

“Gritslarn.”

It was the issue where Gritslarn and the Oskaloosan bandit, Thwesterchin conquer an anthropomorphic black hole together. Dean didn’t bother trying to restrain his laughter. I elbowed him and closed it.

“That’s why I don’t show people.”

“No. It’s awesome. I just...” He took it back from my hand. “I never seen anything like it. You’re something else, you know?”

“Yeah. About that.” I took a deep breath. “Dean, I am something else.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Hold on.” He leaned over and retrieved a beer from his cooler snapped open the bottle with his teeth and spat out the cap. “All right, go.”

“So, you know how—“

“Hey, dipshit!”

Both of our heads turned as Stephen Miller’s face emerged at the edge of the lookout. His smile fell when he saw me, but Dean helped him up and offered a beer.

“Naw, I’m not staying.”

“Don’t be like that, man. Sam’s cool.”

“Yeah?” Stephen scowled. “You should hear some of what Flabby Noonan’s got to say about your little girlfriend.”

My pulse thudded in my ears as Dean glanced over his shoulder at me.

“Why don’t you ask Sam about it?” Stephen snarled. “What kind of stories might Abby Noonan have to tell about you?”

It was a miracle she’d kept it secret so long, and no surprise that Stephen had been the one to wheedle it out of her. This just wasn’t the way I wanted Dean to find out.

Stephen stalked closer and Dean held a hand between us, creating a barrier.

“True or false, Noonans had to call the cops on you?”

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. There was nothing I could do, short of killing him, that would keep Stephen from telling. I could shout the words first, but I had a whole script, and explanation, and Gritslarn.

“Listen, Dean,” I said. “Whatever he tells you—“

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Hey,” Dean tapped Stephen’s chest. “You need to cool it, man.”

“I don’t understand why you’re still messing around with this titless skank?”

“Steve, I swear to God...”

“You said you were going to fuck her and be done with it?”

Dean only shoved once, but that was enough to send Stephen flying backward out of the lookout.

 

**CHAPTER 16**

 

I hugged my knees, sucked my trembling lower lip, and willed myself not to cry. Normal girls can’t possibly cry as much as I did in Oskaloosa.

Dean approached my stoop, but stopped short with his arms wide and considered the blood splattered on his rubber coveralls. He scoffed and said, “Told you this was a bad idea.”

A few yards away, a pig hung by its hind legs. John Winchester rammed a knife into its gut and drew down with vicious efficiency.

I turned away, but not before the entrails sloshed into a bucket. Dean glanced over his shoulder and stepped aside to block my view.

“You okay?”

My nod was a big fat lie.

The pig’s cries still echoed in my brain. It sounded like a human baby as the Winchesters dragged it from the barn and bound its feet to the slaughtering post. Maybe their awful voices are the reasons Jews don’t eat pork.

“Dean! Goddamn it. Get over here, boy,” John Winchester shouted as Adam barreled from the house straight for the pig.

Dean bolted, but he was too slow. Adam cackled as he slipped in the intestines and rubbed the slippery mess all over himself. This time, I didn’t offer to help catch him. I ducked behind a tree and emptied my guts.

Dean warned me not to have breakfast. My response: ‘I’m not squeamish.’

Under normal circumstances, I’m not squeamish. I can handle blood and horror movies and potty talk at the table. But I returned to my perch swinging between nausea and tears.

John Winchester entered my orbit even bloodier than Dean and still wielding his gory 8-inch knife. He crept close enough for a nauseating whiff of the blood, sweat, and shit on him. Close enough to hear him mumble, “What’d you think of that?”

He ran his thumb over the filthy blade displaying a shadow of his former good-looks when he grinned. With the tip of the knife, he lifted my hair from my shoulder.

“Never would have known. You know you’re convincing when that man-whore son of mine can’t tell the difference. That means you haven’t put out yet. And I bet he thinks you’re just playing hard to get.”

Winchester’s gaze lowered to my crotch and he chuckled. “Boy, when he finds out ...”

The chill trickled down my spine and racked my entire body.

“No, no, precious. Don’t go getting upset,” he whispered. “I been thinking this over since we met. I’m going to cut a deal with you, Sam. You get your mother to see me and what Dean doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Adam rounded the corner, screeching like mad. Dean wasn’t far behind him, but the moment he saw me talking to his father, his expression hardened.

“What is this? No!”

He changed course and charged his father like a bull. John Winchester raised his hands, ’no harm, no foul.’ Dean pushed him once, twice, three times until they were back by slaughtering post, toe to toe.

“Don’t you fucking talk to her.” Dean pointed. “Sam, go in the house.”

I stood in shaky legs. Adam stopped running, covered his ears and ducked behind the carcass.

“Sam, go in the fucking house!” Dean yelled again. “Please.”

He’d lost it on Stephen, but this was a different level of rage. The screen door slammed shut, but his shouting was clear through the open window.

“You stay the fuck away from her, you hear me? I see you anywhere near her again, I will gut you like that fucking swine. You test me, John.”

Johnny Winchester glared through the screen at me. Dean followed the gaze over his shoulder, eyes cold and hard like I’d never seen them. He could look at me with that same hate someday. Maybe he’d want to kill me. Gut me. Castrate me. I hid my face behind both hands, struggling to steady my breath.

Adam screamed and I looked in time to see Dean recovering from his father’s attack. He spun and kicked John in the small of his back, sending the man to his knees in the mud and mess. John lunged for the dropped knife. Dean struck his face and switched his focus to stopping Adam from eating the innards.

The brawl blew over as if it had never happened.

John Winchester attached a hose to their pump and alternated between hosing down the filthy, pig-killing gear and spraying Adam, who laughed and tried to lap it up like a golden retriever.

Dean carted a steaming teakettle down the treacherous back steps and poured boiling water into the steel basin.

“I’m gonna wash up real quick,” he said. “Then, we can split.”

I settled on the stool beside the tub, still reeling from an overdose of violence with a hefty portion of blackmail on the side.

Dean didn’t turn to face me when he asked, “What did my dad say to you?”

“Nothing,” I replied too quickly to be credible. “He was just talking about the pigs.”

“It’s best if you stay away from him. I don’t know what he was like back when your mom knew him, but he’s not a cool person.”

No shit. He was creepy and manipulative, and he’d just tried to stab his son.

There’s probably a tutorial on YouTube: How to Tell Your Straight Boyfriend You Were Born With and Still Have a Penis. Not in a jar in a formaldehyde solution, but attached to your body where the vagina would be, if you were what he thinks you are.

I faced away while Dean undressed and climbed into the tub.

Then, he offered the soap. “You get my back for me?”

I could wash his back, no problem. The question was whether I could do so without springing a boner.

“Hey. I’m sorry I yelled,” Dean said.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, and it won’t happen again.” He submerged himself completely and reemerged, sopping wet and shaking his hair. “Me and that old man going to wind up killing each other.”

“I understand.”

“I know you do.”

I touched his back using the soap as a buffer. Allowing only my fingertips brush his warm skin. It still ignited my entire body. Dean grabbed my hand as it washed his shoulder, his smile far too weary for a 19-year-old.

“I shouldn’t have brought you out here for this.”

“I asked you to.” I slipped my hand out of his.

“I know. But I shouldn’t have done it.”

Dean lowered his chin to his chest while I washed his hair with quick, methodical scrubs. Getting the job done. None of that sexy, Righteous Brothers massaging.

John Winchester winked at me as he stalked toward the house, dragging a squealing Adam by the wrist.

*******

Jae’s in Winchester, Kansas is a dive, but it has an undeniable charm. It’s the kind of place where a whatever-I-am feels welcome. Everyone on the waitstaff has tattoos and piercings. Also, the chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes are amazing.

“You like this place?” Deans asked, watching me eat.

“Why do you always ask me that?”

“I just...” He huffed and looked away for a moment. “Did I tell you my great-great-great-grandfather founded this town?”

“Really?”

“Yup. Josiah Winchester.”

“So, why do you live in Oskaloosa?”

“That’s my mom’s family’s land,” he explained, fiddling with the dessert menu. “My dad never had any land. So far as I can tell, he never had anything but a shitty attitude.”

I was no fan of John Winchester, but I’d never seen Dean so bleak. I searched for something to cheer him up. “Isn't your dad some kind of war hero?”

“Asshole kills a bunch of civilians. Awesome.”

We didn’t talk again until the food came.

The leopard on our waitress' arm stalked toward her shoulder. As she topped up Dean’s coffee, he watched me. I watched the leopard, and pretended not to notice.

“Thanks, Aggie.”

Dean’s hands rested on either side of his cup.

“You still grossed out?”

“I wasn't...” I started, but there was no point lying. “Okay. It grossed me out. It's a lot to process.”

“So, you hate me?”

It was so far from true; I laughed out loud. “Why would I hate you?”

“‘Cause I killed that pig.”

His expression was so sincere and contrite and impossibly endearing.

“No.”

“You sure?” Dean let out a shaky breath. “‘Cause you had this look on your face that kinda scared me.”

“Scared you?”

This brash boy, who flirted with women twice his age, directed his answer to his plate rather than meet my eyes. “Yeah. Like, maybe, you were done with me. I got to be the biggest redneck you ever met in your life.”

“I don't even know exactly what that means.”

He chuckled and raised his glass. “In that case, let's eat and I'll shut my trap.”

The mood never lifted, though. Dean couldn’t recover his usual carefree attitude, and I didn’t know how to help. So maybe the right thing was to kick while he was down. I pushed my food around the plate for a few minutes before I sat down my fork and pushed it away. “You never told me how Stephen is doing?”

“Busted to shit. But he’ll live.”

“Is he pissed at you?”

Since Stephen hadn’t told Dean yet, maybe was he too angry to talk?

“How the hell is he going to be pissed? He crossed the line.”

Okay, so not that.

“And I wanted to tell you, Sam.” Dean wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What Stevie said. I did say that I was going to… sleep with you and move on. That’s just, kind of, always been my MO. Never dated a girl more than a week.”

The rumors had preceded him.

Dean continued,“But that’s not what I want with you, Sam. This is…something else. You know that, right?”

It was time to quit being chicken shit, to spit it out and bear the consequences. I swallowed a huge gulp of water so I could launch the confession.

“But Stephen told me what Abby told him.”

The earth stopped spinning. My heart paused, lungs emptied and wouldn’t refill.

“And I don’t really give a shit.”

I’d never even considered that possibility. Disgust, fury, disappointment, violence all seemed likely, but he blessed me with the hint of a smile that blossomed into a first-rate Dean Winchester smirk.

“It’s kind of hot.” He licked his lips. “I mean, you could have picked a hotter girl, but it doesn’t exactly surprise me you’ve done some carpet munching in your day. I assumed you were a full out lesbian that first time I met you, you know, at the school.

Can you believe how we met? Seems like a thousand years ago? I’m not even the same person with you. I feel like…I don’t know, more real. You know? Better.

That’s probably stupid, or corny, or something. But it’s true.”

  



	17. Chapter 17

My mother turned and walked out of the kitchen. “I’m done talking about this, Sam.”  

I followed less than a foot behind, past Campbell snoozing in his chair, to the door of the bathroom. 

“Do you hear what you’re saying? I can’t talk to Dean because of his father? What if people judged me by my dad? What if someone said don’t talk to Sam Cohen because Matt is a criminal.”

“Your father is not a criminal.”

“Okay, well, he is in prison. And Dean’s father is a decorated hero.”

She stuck her toothbrush in my face. “You don’t know John Winchester.”

My mother didn’t know what I knew. “I know Dean.”

“Do you really, Sam?” She squeezed on a slug of paste and continued using the brush to conduct her points. “What does a 19-year-old man want with a 15-year-old? Hm? And did you know he has a history of violence? That he did a year in juvenile detention for assault?”

I did not know about the juvie time. But I had discovered that my mother was a nosy wench.

“You checked his records?”

“He wants to date my child. Hell, yes, I checked him inside out, up and down. His grades suck. He hardly graduated. He can apparently throw a ball straight, but not straight enough to get into college. He’s handsome, I’ll give you that. And very charming, but he’s not good enough for you, Sam. He’s basically trash.”

I’d never heard my mother speak so heartlessly, but it was intolerable about Dean.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I turned to abandon the conversation before I said something dishonorable about her in his defense.

“He’s apparently, also, very…popular,” she said. “How do you know he’s not sleeping with ten other girls while he’s dating you?”

“He’s not like that.”

My mother brushed my hair from my shoulder. “We kept you too sheltered. You don’t understand what people are like. Dean is a young man, used to getting laid on demand. If he’s not getting it with you, he’s getting it somewhere.”

Dean’s blonde friend from Culver’s lit up my synapses. I attempted a second retreat.

“And you know what else, Sam.” Now my mother trailed me to my room. “He can’t mean that much to you if you haven’t told yet.”

I only let her past my threshold so I could slam the door and keep Campbell from overhearing the details.

“Did you tell Daddy you had a vagina when you two started dating?”

“It’s not the same and you know it.” She moved a dirty shirt from the floor into my hamper. “Do you ever plan to tell him?”

I’d been so lucky so long…

“Dangerous game, Sam. Johnny knows, so it’s just a matter of time before he spills it for spite.”

Weary of the arguing, I sank onto my bed and loosened my shoe. “All the man wants is to talk to you.”

“No.” She opened the door. “And you’re done with Dean Winchester. That’s it. Foot down.”

 

***

I tapped on the radio. "Who's this?" 

“You like?” Dean glanced at me. 

I shrugged. He laughed and blew his smoke out of the window. 

“I would have told you to bring your music, but I only got a tape deck.” 

“Tape deck? Jeez. How old is this thing?”

Dean smoothed his hand over the dashboard. “Don’t listen to her, Baby. You ain’t old. You’re a classic.” 

He popped his tape and turned on FM. A charismatic male voice hollered, 

“…Sin is death. Now, you and me, we don’t got to worry about that, because we been redeemed by the blood of the lamb.” 

Dean reached for the dials. “You listening to this?” 

I was listening, but he was already searching for a program he could sing along with all the way to Kansas City, where he stopped at a gas station. 

While the pump did its work, he rested his hands on my shoulders. Clutching my hair, he drew me close and licked the seam of my lips, the nipped the lower one before sliding his tongue into my mouth. 

I gripped his shirt to keep upright. I gave up trying to mimic what he was doing and surrendered; skin hot, legs soft, cock rigid, I shifted my hips away from his.

Dean grinned. “Let's roll.”

Breathless, I muttered, “I have to go...” 

The restroom doors were ten feet apart. I held my breath and entered the women’s, feet soundless as I closed the stall behind me and leaned my head on the door. 

I loosened my fly, apologized to Jesus, and tugged like mad until my eyes squeezed shut. I shuddered, bit back the whimper and let the waves crash over me. 

Hands fresh, gloss pristine, I held the door for a middle age woman on my way outside.

Dean had moved the car to the far side of the parking lot and sat on the hood with a cigarette. When he saw me coming, he took a final drag and tossed it. I marched right up to him, slid between his open thighs, pecked his lips, and immediately regretted it. I tried to rub the flavor from my tongue onto the roof of my mouth.

“You taste like an ashtray.” 

“Sorry.” 

Dean rummaged in his pocket and produced a pack of gum. He offered me the first piece and folded another between his teeth. 

“You’re staring at me,” he said. “Now what?” 

“You have freckles.” 

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

My fingertip danced across the sprinkling over his nose. I don’t know how I’d missed them before.

“You’re seeing things, little girl.”

He grabbed my wrist, and when I stopped (half-heartedly) struggling, he kissed my knuckles, moss-green eyes never leaving mine.

On Dean’s suggestion, we scouted for license plates, collecting tags from states as far away as Alaska. At some point, he claimed my hand and the fireworks tore through my chest, swelling as his thumb stroked mine. 

When we crossed into Missouri, Dean was outhowling the radio again. 

 

_ If you want to go way out where there ain't nobody around  _

_ And let your long hair get to falling down _

_ And let your red lips leave their mark all over mine _

_ Gonna wanna tonight  _

 

He wouldn’t quit looking at our hands, kissing the back of mine, toying with my fingers. It was barely erotic, but I was getting hard again, so I withdrew my hand to my lap. 

Dean curled his fingers around the steering wheel, gripping tight, singing loud and off-key.

 

*** 

 

I tried to help pitch the tent. After a few dropped poles, Dean switched my assignment to Official Stick Collector, like it was my fault I’d never been camping.

By the time I’d gathered a bucket of what Dean called kindling, I was sweaty and swatting bugs like it was an Olympic sport. He laughed and stacked my sticks beside the fire pit. 

“You must taste too good to resist.”

He dug a bottle from his bag, poured a drop of the lotion into his palm and spread it on my arms: the floral fragrance not quite masking the poison.

Then he dropped to one knee and grinned up at me. The only other person who’d ever been in this position was Abby and I’d always vaguely wanted her to stand back up. 

That was not the case with Dean. My body ached for his touch. I pinned my hands behind my back to keep from curling my fingers around his neck and mushing his face into my crotch.

He lathered his cream on my ankle, warm hands soothing the cold ointment over my calf as he watched my face for a reaction.

“Dean.” 

“Say the word.” 

I closed my eyes, chewed my lip and let my body burn. I caught his hand mid-thigh, as his fingers breached my frayed hem. 

“Okay.” He stood and smiled. “They ought to leave you alone now.”

 

***

 

It was a dream: hiking through God’s country, holding hands with Dean Winchester.  

He held a finger to his lips even though we hadn’t been speaking. That same finger pointed out an orange creature who had stopped to watch us, too.

Dean mouthed, ‘Bobcat.’ 

I clutched his arm, and he chuckled. When Bobcat moved along, so did we.

Dean offered his hand as I crossed the slippery rocks. I accepted, not because I needed help, but because it was sweet. Dean was sweet and I’d have taken any excuse to touch him. 

We rested on a boulder in the middle of the river. He claimed my foot, pretended to dial a phone number into my sole and held it to the side of his face, conducting a full conversation. It was so ridiculous I couldn’t stop laughing - until Dean started tickling. 

Then I screamed and kicked him into the water. 

“I’m sorry. Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. Dean?” 

As I was reaching in to search, he leaped on the other side of the rock and grabbed my leg. 

“No. No, Dean. Seriously.” 

Finally, he dragged himself back onto the rock and peeled off his sopping shirt. He splayed it flat to dry and did the same with himself: feet splashing in the water and hands folded under his head. 

He looked like Heaven laying there, or like something the devil created purely for temptation. I ignored him at first, watching tiny fish and leaves float by. But eventually, my fingers stopped twiddling on my thigh and hovered over his still-wet chest. 

Dean smiled. “It’s okay.” 

I chewed the hell out of my cheek and dropped my palm on his hot skin. He covered my hand with his and shut his eyes. 

“Tell you what, Sammy. One of these days, I’m gonna get me a lil house. Someplace wild like this. Good fishing and hunting. A couple of dogs. No fucking swine. Good woman.” 

He pulled my hand to his face, scraping it over the slightest scruff of stubble.

“What about you? What you want, little girl?” 

Every time he called me that, my head spun. “I don't know. Haven't really thought about it.” 

I wanted what everybody wants: sincerity, kindness, and somebody to know me and love me anyway.

“You want a family?” Dean asked. “You think, like, kids? Not right now or anything, but eventually.” 

“No.” No use wanting things you can’t have. “You?”

“I honestly think I can pass on kids. Getting my fill chasing after Adam.”

I tolerated his finger in the groove in my neck until it traced down my sternum, blurring the thin line between pleasant touch and arousal. I knocked it away.

“Let me ask you something,” Dean said, tickling my arm. “You born again?”

“Yeah, I am.”

The answer spilled out and surprised us both.

Mrs. Carter had said that prayer. My mother would lose her shit if she knew my name was on St. Peter’s scroll, but by the time she found out, she’d be roasting in eternal hellfire. (If all this Bible stuff was true.)

“Kind of, I guess.”

“So, you’re, like, married to Jesus?” 

I laughed. “No. Just never had a religion before. I don’t know. It’s comforting.”

“To think the same guy who created you will grill you forever if you don’t believe this wacked out story? At least when my dad tries to kill me it’s for a reason.” 

“Okay, so you’re not a believer."

“No,” he said. “And I've never ... I don't usually have to work this hard, even with Christian girls.” 

I couldn’t believe his arrogance. I grabbed my shoes and stood. “Is that what this is? You trying to work me over?” 

Dean sat up. “Absolutely not.” 

“If I put out I’d stop being interesting to you, wouldn’t I?” 

I marched off and he followed. “Hey. No. I told you, that’s not what this is.”

“Why do you want to have sex so badly? It’s not that great.”

“Then, you’ve been doing it wrong, sweetheart,” he said. “You need to let me show you.”

I diverted my eyes from his infernal smile.

“I want you, Sam. But I can wait, as long as you need, okay?” He rested his hands on my shoulders, fingers twisting in my hair. “I kind of like it. Never just talked to a girl before. Never come out here, with a girl. I got this feeling, you're not ever going to stop being interesting to me, Sam. It’s more likely going to be the other way around, because what you see with me is all there is. No secrets. No surprises.”

Well, that made one of us. 

“But I’d hoped, at some point, you’d want me, too.” 

I was wound up so tight with want, my body shook. Dean touched my face, and I flinched. 

“Hey, listen,” he whispered. “I got this theory that keeps messing with me. And I don’t want you to get mad, okay? I’m just trying to understand you.”

He waited for me to nod assent.

“Somebody ever do something to you? You know, something wrong?” 

What did he mean, something wrong? Like punch me and try to stab me?

“Your dad? Is that why he's locked up?” 

Dean meant bad touch. My dad? Never, ever in a zillion years. My dad was the funniest, goofiest, warmest, best person in the world. And he was so far away, he might as well be dead. I lowered my face to hide the impending waterworks.

“Sam, hey…” His finger on my chin urged me to look at him. “God. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to—” 

“Can we talk about something else?” 

“Yeah. ‘Course.” 

We didn’t talk. The river rushed, the birds called and insects hummed, as we trekked back to the campsite, hand in hand. Dean stopped and pointed to two critters sunning themselves, tails entwined, bodies flat against the stone.

“Collared lizards.” 

He curled an arm around my waist, hand over mine. 

 

***

 

Dean had brought hot dogs and beans and ‘plumb forgot’ the can opener. However, the raging fire he concocted from a single match was a miracle. Once we’d eaten our stick dogs, he let me crawl inside the tent to change into pajamas and slide into my sleeping bag. 

Just as Dean entered, lightning brightened the woods like midday. “Don’t worry. Sometimes a summer storm’ll pop up.”

I propped on my elbows. “You guys get tornados out here, right?” 

“‘Course. This ain’t a twister though. Just a little rain. You gonna melt?” 

Thunder crashed. Raindrops pummeled the canvas roof. Dean scooted his bag flush with mine and fastened his arm around me. “Scared?” 

“No,” I answered truthfully, so he wouldn’t move closer - if that was even possible. 

“You think you can take a ghost story?” he asked and told a decent tale about a Woman in White - pissed ghost. 

Then, I told one of my dad’s, about a creature called the Wendigo. By the time I finished the story, Dean had huddled so close he was practically inside my sleeping bag.

“It can mimic people? Shit. That is fucked up.” 

I laughed. 

We listened to the rain battering the tent, stirring us deeper into the warm, dry middle. 

Dean’s fingers glided into my hair. “I want to kiss you all night.” 

A heaven-bright spark ignited in my chest, flame unfurling down my spine into my groin like wildfire. 

Patient, closed-mouthed pecks and gentle caresses escalated to fistfuls of hair. Moans and a second, greedy tongue in my mouth. Dean’s heart pounding beneath my palm.

Every time his hands wandered south of my neck, I protested. 

“Dean.”

He’d hum in response, blinking as if his body was outside his control.

His hands found a home on my lower back until they nearly forced our bellies together. I crossed my arms in front of my aching dick and let Dean explore my mouth until my lips tingled. Then they buzzed. Then they hurt. 

When he tried to roll on top of me, I pushed him away and said, “No.”

“Listen.” Dean panted. “I’ve got ... if you change your mind, I’m prepared ... If you...”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. 

“Okay.” He rolled onto his back, breath still uneven. “Then, I need … I need to stop."  

The storm had passed. Only an occasional fat drop fell from the leaves overhead. 

“I won't be far.”

Dean zipped the tent behind him but remained near enough for his gasps and the quiet slap of skin on skin to make me ache for relief. I barely grazed my pitiful cock and it leaked through my cotton pajama shorts. 

I was so close, it wouldn’t take any time at all. But Dean might return too soon, or smell when he did, and where would I put the jizz? And whatever happened to repentance?

I flipped onto my stomach and humped the ground, like a horny puppy while the sleeping back soaked up my tears.

The zipper opened, and I stilled. 

“Sam. You sleep?” 

He closed the tent but remained outside. I fell asleep to the scuffle of Dean climbing onto the Impala’s hood and cigarette smoke.

 

***

 

I awoke before dawn with Dean’s arm draped over my chest, his face in my hair and his morning wood nestling my ass. My stiffy was back with a vengeance, too, even though my shorts were a coated, stiffening mess. 

It was uncomfortable, but attempts to deal with it would draw attention, so drifted back to sleep. 

The next time my eyes opened, Dean was awake and staring.

“Morning.” 

To avoid killing him with my breath, I only smiled.

He was impossibly beautiful in the misty morning air inside our tent. Some lucky girl was going to wake beside this perfection every day.

“Sleep good?” 

I nodded and yawned, cover my gaping mouth. Dean chuckled and kissed my nose. 

“Good. We should get an early start. Thought we’d hit the Fire Tower Trail. Then, head down to the Onyx Cave, if you’re up for that much hoofing. Or we could just go down to the Blue Spring. Sound good?” 

“Your park.”

“You’re wearing Chucks, aren’t you?” he asked. “We’ll play it by ear. You tell me if it gets to be too much, okay? I’ll carry you back, if I have to.” 

“I need to go to the bathroom.” 

I slogged so far into the woods I might have troubling finding my way back. Even still, I scanned the area and crouched to the ground against a tree. I did need to piss, but this was more urgent. 

Wincing, biting back cries and finally climaxing over my fingers into the wet grass, I wiped the mess onto some fallen leaves and I waited until I could pee.

The smell of come was thick on our tent. Dean was already rolling my bag. I snatched it from him and packed it away myself.

Once the equipment was loaded, he grabbed my hips and snared me between his body and the car. "I kinda love you, you know." 

My face warmed as I smiled. "Kind of?" 

He laughed. “Kind of a lot. That okay with you?” 

“I have to think about it.” 

Dean curled an arm around my waist and growled against my neck like a wolf defending his territory. 

 

***

 

Mostly, we hiked in silence. Occasionally, though, Dean broke into song. His voice wasn’t great, but he committed and I couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Don’t stand over there laughing at me, girl. Sing.” 

“I don’t know it.”

“How can you not know it? It’s Dolly Parton.” He hung his head to mourn my cluelessness. “Fine. What do you know? We’ll sing whatever you want.”

“I don’t know any songs, Dean.”

“How about this?” He tucked his chin and sang low. 

 

_ I keep a close watch on this heart of mine  _

_ I keep my eyes wide open all the time _

_ I keep the ends out for the tie that binds  _

_ Because you're mine, I walk the line  _

 

It was catchy, but I’d never heard it.

“Come on, Sam. You got to know more than Taylor Swift.” 

I warned with a finger. “Don’t hate.”

“Fine. You sing me something, then.”

“Like what?” 

“Anything.” He stood behind me, arms around my waist. “Even her.”

“Okay. I got something,” I said. “Don’t look at me.” 

Dean turned away, resting his ear on my shoulder. 

I’d never sung in front of anyone in my life. It was awkward, awful proof that there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for Dean Winchester.

My voice wasn’t much better than his and I kept it hush.

 

_ We found love in a hopeless place _

_ We found love in a hopeless place  _

_ We found love in a hopeless place  _

_ We found love in a hopeless place  _

 

Dean applauded with his arms around me. Then he spun me so we could dance while he sang:

 

_ You've got a way to keep me on your side  _

_ You give me cause for love that I can't hide  _

_ For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide  _

_ Because you're mine, I walk the line  _

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

I was tossing laundry into the machine when my mother screamed. I dropped what I was doing and bolted to the backyard. 

She was standing on a bucket pointing at an eight-foot snake. Before there was time to think, I dislodged Campbell’s ax from the stump and lobbed off its head. 

Mom stepped from her pail, gawking between me and the bleeding still wriggling body in my hand. 

“Timber rattler, I’m pretty sure.”

“You know snakes now?” 

Dean had acquainted me with all the creepy-crawlers of the region, but I kept that detail to myself. 

“Who’s making all that racket?” Campbell limped down the back steps and commandeered the ax. “Before you chop off one of them sticks you walk on. What you gonna do with that?” 

The rattler’s carcass was still dangling between my thumb and forefinger. 

“I guess, bury it.” 

“Shovel’s in the shed.”

 

*******

 

I caressed the amethyst colored, crushed velvet floor-length curtains while a panel of indifferent strangers discussed the merits and shortcomings of my life’s work.

The high windows overlooked the campus’ freshly mown lawn and the willow trees bending low to touch the lake. The judge's words were inaudible, so I read their hairstyles and clothing until one panelist finally spoke, “Sam, you’re wearing an original piece, correct?” 

I smoothed my hands down my suit. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you come over here, darling?” 

She was in her late 60s with triangular glasses and an asymmetrical dress. One stockinged leg was sunshine yellow; the other neon green. She examined the bulky sleeve of my jacket. 

“This material?”

“Um ... My ... friend’s mother had a few bolts of it and I... we couldn’t afford—” 

“You'll want to say salvaged materials, dear?” The judge winked. Her left eyebrow was shaved and pierced with a safety pin. “Is this your stitchwork?” 

“Yes, ma’am. This part I did by hand because I had to use a Singer 2277, which is decent, but not ideal. My machine was…unavailable, but it mostly turned out the way I wanted.”

“It’s quirky. Unique.” 

Her heels clicked as she strutted back to the judge’s panel.

“Sam, your comic is honest, funny and poignant.” 

The man beside her yawned and added, “But you don’t belong at Interlochen.” 

Simple as that, they handed down the verdict. I’d spend the rest of my life as a nobody in Nowhere, Kansas. Probably go to community college and wind up designing websites and menus.

The strange thing was, it didn’t gut me like a death sentence. It meant the rest of my life with Dean. Or as long as he’d have me. I smiled as I collected my art and thanked the judges for rejecting me.

 

*** 

My mother held my hand in her lap, while we waited for Ms. Scott to complete her call. Her clutching agitated the swarm of butterflies in my stomach, so I pretended to have to scratch my palm.

Ms. Scott’s office was appropriate to the woman: each wall painted a different color, a human-sized statue of a cat doing yoga. Crazy town. Perfect. 

She hung up and pushed up her glasses. 

“Colin is terse, but he’s right. Interlochen offers a more conventional approach to the arts than would be right for you. But I know a program where you may fit in wonderfully.” 

Mom seized my hand again and squeezed until my fingers ached. 

“I will have to ask you a few, rather private questions. Is that all right?” 

I mirrored my mother’s nod.

Ms. Scott removed the glasses, folded her hands over her desk and asked, “Sam, what sex were you assigned at birth?” 

My face flushed. This wasn’t a conversation I’d had with many people. Ms. Scott was friendly, but there was no telling where this was going.

My voice quivered when I answered, “Um, male.” 

“And are you attracted to males or females? Sexually.” 

I huffed, expecting my mother to call it off. Mrs. Scott’s expression was all science; Mom was riveted.

I wiped the sweat from my upper lip and shifted in my seat. “Both, I guess.” 

Ms. Scott smiled. “And what gender do you consider yourself to be? There are no right or wrong answers, honey. I didn’t want to assume.” 

No one had ever asked me that. Until that moment, I'd always just assumed I was weird.

“Both. Neither. I‘m not sure.” 

A sudden lightness washed over me, along with a touch of nausea. 

“An old friend runs a program for gifted, young LGBTQIA artists. Frankly, I think you're a shoo-in. If you’re interested.” 

“He’s interested!” My mother slid to the edge of her seat and barraged the poor woman with questions of her own.

 

*** 

 

Mom glanced at me as she pulled into the fast lane. 

“A horse walked into a bar…”

It was code for ‘why the long face?’ I painted on a smile. 

“How can you possibly be disappointed, Sam? Do you have any idea how amazing this is? Interlochen is a great school, but this is bypassing that.” She slapped my arm and laughed. “It doesn’t get better than this, Sam.” 

“You don’t think it’s weird it’s just for queer kids? 

“Would it be weird if it were Hebrew school, or a boy’s school, or a girl’s school? It’s a safe place where you’ll be surrounded by people like you.”

There wasn’t anybody like me. Of that much I was sure. 

We eased into traffic between a pair of thundering sixteen wheelers. 

“The world’s not like that, Mom.” 

“No, it isn’t. But if you find a sanctuary in the madness, be grateful.” 

She pulled ahead and switched lanes. 

"I know you've found your little corner of the sky with Dean Winchester, against my wishes. But he’s not a forever kind of boy, Sam. He’s a summer fling. And Oskaloosa is not a destination. Not for you."


	19. Chapter 19

The Winchester double-wide was a study in havoc. A finger trailed over a stack of board games returned with a thick cake of dust. Judging by the layer, no one had read or even moved the books on the shelves in decades. Boxes full of boxes, old newspapers, bags of magazines. Bags of trash and bags of bags. Blankets and empty food packaging and tapes and pens and plastic containers and ... 

I fought the urge to delve deeper into the madness and study these strange people like an archeological dig. One door was open anyway, so I peeked in. If possible, it was even more cluttered, with women’s clothes, shoes, magazines, containers, and plates of uneaten and moldy food strewn haphazardly. 

Hardly a visible inch of floor. 

The next door lead to a tidy bathroom, except for that layer of grime that pervaded the entire place like fallout dust. I turned the faucet, but nothing happened. I already knew water didn’t run to the house, but it never ceased to shock me. No water in the toilet and only a dried heap of dead spiders in the tub’s drain. 

I closed the door behind me and opened the next one. It was nowhere near as neat as my room, but for the conditions in this place, it was clean. 

Two twin beds on opposites side of the small room. The threadbare sheets on one had been soiled and washed repeatedly. On the wall over the neatly made bed, a busty blonde in a red bikini bent over the hood of a muscle car. 

An open book lay words-down on the pillow. James Patterson. I sat on Dean’s bed and checked over my shoulder before leaning over to sniff: Sweaty and sweetly familiar. 

“Sam?”

I met him in the living room where he’d sat down the bag of supplies. I rolled short sleeves up my biceps and aimed pointer fingers like six guns in the wild west.  “Let’s do this.” 

“You know, you don’t owe me anything.”

I unpacked a trash bag and said, “I owe you everything.” 

“That fabric stuff was rotting away in here anyway. And nobody uses that damn machine.” 

We worked for hours, mostly collecting trash into heavy duty bags. Dean squeezed my muscle as I returned from piling a bag into his trunk. “Small but mighty.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“No, you’re not.”

I planted myself in front of him to prove my point. His hands encircled my waist, pinning me so he could pilfer a kiss. I nudged him and returned to work. 

Dean washed the dishes in the same basin they used for baths. I wet wiped every surface and within five minutes, the water in my bucket was a filmy black. 

Dump, refill, repeat until desks and dressers in the living room were presentable. Swept, mopped and helped Dean put away the dishes. 

Hands on his hips, he regarded the place with an appreciative huff.

“You good?”

Dean hoisted the last sack over his shoulder like Santa Claus and lugged it out of the door.

On the third trip back from the dump, Dean pulled the car onto the side of the road and retrieved a small, black something from the glove compartment. I met him in front of the car and he led me by the hand into the thick woods. 

Grinning like a predator, he backed me against a tree and trapped me between his arms. He leaned in and I shoved so hard, he stumbled backward, chuckling. 

He stalked closer again, gaze trained on my parted lips. 

“Let me kiss you, Sam.”

In calculated slow motion, Dean leaned in and brushed our lips together. 

I turned aside, and he forced my hand to his erection. The slap followed naturally.

“I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You just … You’re driving me fucking crazy.” 

That was never my intention. All I wanted was to make him as happy as he made me. 

I held my breath as I loosened his button, slipped down his zipper, and held another guy’s cock for the first time. Dean watched, eyes and mouth wide, as I went to my knees. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and I stopped caring whether God would forgive me. 

I needed to focus and blow Dean right so he'd know how much I loved him. If this would reciprocate even a fraction of the thrill he’d given me, I’d suck, swallow and never stop. 

I shifted on my knees and pressed the other palm against the tormented rod strapped to my belly. Inhaled and moved to fill my salivating mouth. Dean held his palm against my forehead.

“Stop, Sam.”

He held my chin and said, “You don’t have to. Okay?” 

He tried to help me to my feet, but I gripped my elbows and collapsed forward. Why couldn’t I even do this one thing for him?

Dean knelt.  “Hey. I don’t care if you never ... I mean, I hope you will someday, but not like this. Someplace classy, with candles and shit.” 

When I finally met his eyes, Dean wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. He reached into his back pocket and produced a small, black ring box.

“This was in Laurel’s stuff. It’s…” He turned it over in his palm and bit his lip.  “Look, I’m not… It’s not… You don’t have to promise anything. Just, when you start school in the fall, I want everybody to know you’re mine.”

I’d never even mentioned Interlochen to him, but it was the least of things I should have mentioned before we started dating.

“Dean, I got an apprenticeship with a real costume designer.”

“Whoa. Costumes? That’s cool, right? Sewing and stuff?” He asked. “That’s a good thing, right?” 

I nodded.

His thumbs traced calm, easy caresses over my cheeks. “So, why do you look like somebody hit your cat? We ought to be celebrating, right?”

“It’s in New York.” I breathed the words as if he could inhale them and make it untrue.

“When?” 

“Soon.” 

He dropped his hands. “How long?” 

"It's school, so..." 

He chuckled bitterly and stepped back. "You didn't want to say anything before now?" 

"I didn't know if I'd get in. I mean, I didn't get in the one I wanted, but this thing just came up. And I have to go as soon as we get everything situated. But my mother doesn't get paid until Friday, so we can’t buy the ticket until ..." 

I bit my lip to stop the rambling. 

“Friday?” He nodded, nostrils flaring as his gaze became distant.

“Dean?” 

I reached for him, but he jerked away, ran his hand through his hair and hissed, “I’ll take you home.”


	20. Chapter 20

I stepped out of the ripped jean shorts, peeled off the long and baggy shirt, and let them puddle on the floor. 

My eyes were big and hazel. I always liked my eyes. 

The rest of me was a lost cause: bird chest, giraffe legs, kangaroo feet, a monster’s oversized cock and hands. Spider-long fingers raked mouse-brown hair over my stupid face. Maybe I could die from ugliness.

 

*******

 

By some miracle, I rallied the energy to drag to work for the last time. I stood behind the counter like a zombie, knocking back caffeine drinks every couple of hours to offset the last two days' lack of sleep. 

I stood with my heavy eyes half-closed and chin rested in my hand on the counter. The moment Dean appeared at the window, my heart hopped into my throat.

He hadn’t answered calls or returned texts. Now, finally, he would come either break up officially or apologize for being such a jerk. I couldn’t read the future on his expression and the uncertainty (and the exhaustion) were unbearable. 

But Dean never entered the shop. He plucked a few bills from his wallet and handed them to one of the other mechanics, Wes, who always bought cherry-flavored chewing tobacco. This time, when he came in, he asked for a pack of Marlboros, too. 

“What kind?”

“Oh. Let me go ask.” Wesley stepped back outside.

I slapped down the pack of originals before he returned and asked for them.

On the walk home, I glanced at the garage. Tried to stop myself, but couldn’t help craning my neck for a view of him. When a technician whistled, I gave him the finger and picked up my pace. 

 

*******

 

Campbell grunted as he hauled me away from the kitchen sink. “You little idiot.”

Sputtering and gasping like a fresh-caught fish, I toppled on top of him

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

In retrospect, it was not my brightest moment.

“Ain’t you supposed to be clicking your heels for joy?” 

I clutched my burning throat and grappled for air. 

For the record, I was not trying to die. I’d been staring at the sink of dirty dishwater when Dean’s prediction occurred to me. All I wanted was the hurt to drown out the hollow ache of three days and no reply.

“After Clara died, I thought about it day and night for months. How easy it would be to follow her. They got the goddamn plot out there waiting for me,” Campbell said. “But it’s a coward’s way out.”

“I wasn’t—“

“Shut up. What do you think that Winchester boy would do when he finds out you waterboarded your damn self in the sink?”

I had no reply and my chest was on fire. Could only gape.

“Oh, you thought I hadn’t seen his goofy face sniffing around here? I know what the hell is going on around my house.”

“He won’t even talk to me anymore, Campbell.” I buried my face in my arm. 

I kept waiting for him to tell me to suck it up. 

“Your mom never told you about her and Johnny Winchester, did she?”

I shook my head and mustered every ounce of energy to regain my composure.

“You make sure and ask her about it.”

Campbell refused help in favor of struggling for the next ten minutes to clamber to his feet. He finally gripped the edge of the counter and hoisted himself up with a groan. Then he patted my cheek, huffing like he’d run a marathon. 

“Emerald City, Sam. Queen B’s waiting on you.”

 

*******

My mother sat on the edge of my bed and folded her legs. “Dean is a lot like his father was: handsome and God, so charming. Daddy used to say he could smile the panties off a nun.” 

A glob of snot flew out along with the laugh I hadn’t expected. She wiped it from her leg and handed me another tissue.

“Johnny was also…heavy. A lot of darkness he’d inherited from his father, who was not a good person. Drinking and…frankly, awful.”

“Dean’s not like that.”

“But he gets into fights, breaks things.”

“He doesn’t, Mom. Maybe when he was younger. He’s…” 

I couldn’t even find words to describe the kindness and patience. 

“I can see that you have feelings for him, Sam.”

I didn’t have feelings for Dean Winchester. I had become nothing but an all-consuming, pulsing, sleepless, roiling craving for him.

“Do you think he loves you?”

“Boys lie, right?”

I lie and I wasn’t even a boy. Not completely. Anyway, it was safe to assume that Dean was a big, stupid, lying penis.

“If he loves you, he’ll wait.”

My mother was obviously insane or mean. “He’s not going to wait. He doesn’t even want me anymore. He’s probably…” 

I couldn’t even bring myself to say the words - with that girl. Sucking on her huge tits, fucking her dizzy.

“Maybe he won’t wait,” my mother, the heartless bitch, shrugged. “Then, you’ll know.” 

“How can you say that?”

“I was a little older than you when Johnny Winchester told me not to go to college because he loved me. He asked me to marry him, and I told him I would when I was finished. You know what he said to that?” My mother smiled and said,  “Men don’t wait.”

Of course, they don’t. Why would she ever expect anything different?

“Less than a year later, I heard Laurel Carter was pregnant and they were ... Although that child would be older than Dean. And then, eventually, I met your father, who was a fairytale. And had beautiful you, and that would never have happened if I’d stayed here to keep Johnny Winchester where I wanted him.”

My mother wiped hair and tears and snot from my face. 

“I promise you, Sam, it may not seem like it now, but you will do greater things in your life than loving this boy.” 

“What if nobody else ever loves me again?”

“Baby.” She handed me a fresh tissue. “I felt the same way. You just got to let go and trust that what’s yours will always return to you.”

 

*******

He replied to the twenty-fifth message. 

DEAN: Leave me alone please 

I couldn’t keep from calling. This time instead of voicemail, there was silence on the other end. 

“You there?” 

It was a moment before he answered, voice rough like I’d woken him. “Yeah, I'm here.”

He cleared his throat.

I held back the tide of pleas and apologies brewing in my throat and said, “Hi.” 

“This is the opposite of leaving me alone, Sam.”

“I'm leaving today,” I explained, expecting…

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but not

“I know.”

A full minute of nothing passed between us.

“My mother said she would bring me by your place if you wanted to say goodbye.” I held my breath. 

He made a sound I couldn’t place (a laugh, a cough?) “Nah. You go ahead.” 

My chin quivered as I conquered the urge to toss the phone out of the window. “Why are you being like this, Dean?” 

“I'm trying to let you go.” 

“It doesn't have to be--”

“Yeah, but it is. You made a choice.”

Before he could hang up, I shouted, “I’m outside of your house.” 

Dean scratched his head as he strolled down the steps, hair greasy, shirt stained. He gave my mom a cursory greeting. She waved back and kept the car running. We’d allotted five minutes for this goodbye.

His eyes traveled over my loose fitting jeans and the gray hoodie. My mother’s suggestion I dress masculine and inconspicuous for the bus ride made sense. Felt safe. Nobody would whistle or spit on me dressed like that. 

I wiped my clammy palms down my pants. “We’re on our way to the bus station.” 

Dean avoided eye contact. “What do you want, Sam?”

“I just wanted to...” 

It was a good speech: well-practiced permanently lodged on the tip of my parched tongue. Dean glanced up the road like he couldn’t wait for me to hit it. 

“Thank you.”

Finally, he met my eyes. “For what?”

“For you,” I said. “For everything.” 

I’d never seen him so indifferent. Not angry, not sad. Just frozen.

“You were always honest with me. And I ... haven’t been. But I want to be. This is...” I flipped up my hood. I’d seen it in the mirror. I couldn’t look any more like a dude. “The rest of me.” 

I didn’t flinch or duck. If he hit me, I deserved it. If he flipped out, I could jump in the car, drive away, and never see him again. 

But there was no reaction. Just that blank stare. He hadn't understood. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to dive in again. 

“I'm... I was... born ... a boy. I guess, technically, I am one, although I was always a girl with you. I know that sounds crazy.” 

I dropped my face into my hands and focused on breathing. 

Still no response. 

I bunched denim in both fists. 

“I just wanted to tell you.” 

Dean didn’t budge. I would have rather he yell, scream, or choke me than stand there like a cold fish.

“Yeah, okay,”  he said and tilted back his head.

“That's it?”

“What do you want me to say, Sam?”

His serenity was unsettling in a way that anger wouldn't have been.

“You aren't mad?” 

“You want me to be mad?”

“No.” 

Maybe I wanted him to be a little mad. Or disappointed, or shocked. Just to feel anything for me anymore.

“I'm not mad, Sam.”

My lungs constricted, body trembled. “Okay”

Dean pointed to a faint bruise on his cheek. “See this? My dad already told me.” 

“He hit you?”

A feeble version of his cocky smile twinkled. “After I hit him.” 

“Why?”

“So he would know I meant it. If he told anybody else, I'd kill him.” 

I dropped my watering eyes. That was the right reaction: disgust and embarrassment. People had seen him with me. Knew I was his… Thought I was his girlfriend. No wonder he’d want to kill his dad for telling them the truth. It was a miracle he wasn’t trying to kill me. 

“I mean, if you want folks to know, that's up to you,” Dean said. “It's not up to my dad. That's your... You know what I'm trying to say?” 

My brain shut down. Then rebooted.

Dean wasn’t disgusted, or angry, or disappointed. He was still standing there, talking to me.  

“I already knew before that.” The summer-kist skin under Dean's freckles flushed. “I, uh ... accidentally ... felt you. I swear, it was an accident. I wouldn’t ... In the tent, when ..." 

Nearly two weeks prior. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. "I figured you would when you were ready." 

I took a few breaths to let the slow smile displace the months of tension that were melting away. “You don't hate me?” 

“I love you, Sam. You know that. I didn't say it ‘cause I thought you had a cooch. I said it, ‘cause ... Because I do.” 

I took moved toward him and Dean stepped back. 

“But I'm not gay.” 

He shook his head, turned and strode back into his house. The curtain peeled back and Adam waved. 

 

***

 

Through the bus window, Kansas City faded into memory. Trees, billboards, and  cars blurred with my reflection in the glass. Emerald City beckoned.

Taylor crooned in my ears like an angel of the Lord: 

 

_ Say you'll remember me _

_ Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe  _

_ Red lips and rosy cheeks  _

_ Say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams _

 

I was done crying. Instead, I recited my mantra until I started to almost believe it. All the way across 70 East, I repeated.

Oskaloosa wasn’t a destination. It was a pit stop.

Dean Winchester wasn’t a forever boy. He was a summer fling. 

The summer of Dean was over. 

The rest of my life was still ahead of me.

 


	21. PART 2: FLAWLESS

**Part 2:**

[ ](https://imgur.com/z6XeeK6)


	22. Chapter 22

We’ve all seen the buildings and the bustle in movies, but nothing prepared me for the senseless mob threatening to crush anyone lost or uncertain into the pavement. Relentless waves of city heat compounded by the friction of ceaseless motion, magnified to a broil by glass and steel. 

I kept my back to the Port Authority, searching left and right, as I reviewed my map of Manhattan silent prayer. Out of the throngs emerged a sable-skinned savior with  shoulder-length, silver dreadlocks, black and green kilt, and thigh-high leather boots. His ripped t-shirt read: EXPRESS in bold, pink letters. 

“Hello, Sam.” 

The photos on the Novak Foundation’s website featured the school director, Raphael Abbé, in a plum-colored suit and stern expression. His face was the same mask; his outfit was unexpected and his handshake rattled my teeth.

Raphael’s biography stated he was a native of Haiti, but the deep vibrato and the occasionally baffling lilt of his speech surprised me. 

He repeated slowly, “How was your trip?”

I nodded my approval, since I couldn’t speak while I covered my yawn with a fist.

“We’ll be home in twenty minutes,” he said. “You can have a nap if you like.” 

I followed him to the subway, gawking at the New Yorkers like they were dragons and fairies. A woman across the aisle was carrying on a conversation with a headless mannequin with tassels on its nipples. A homeless man shouted his life story like an indictment of his fellow passengers I hugged my duffel bag to my chest.

Tourists studied maps. Pants suits studied cell phones. A guy danced up the center of the car, with headphones so loud the beat thumped in my teeth. Raphael stood a few feet away, bicep flexing as he held an overhead strap for balance. As we approached the end of the line, he sat across the emptying train, watching out of the window. 

I didn’t expect a hug, but his distance made me miss my mother.

Then again, I stank pretty badly after a day of travel. I’d make a better impression after a shower.

Dean always said he’d give anything for a train from Oskaloosa to Kansas City, or even to Lawrence. I squashed the thought of him by scrutinizing graffiti on the glass and memorizing storefronts on our walk to the building. 

Four flights up to a thick steel door with three sets of locks. Raphael opened and gave me the keys.

The familiar bouquet of sawdust and acrylic paint wafted out to meet me, smelling so much like my dad’s workshop that I hovered in the doorway smiling. 

The loft’s walls were painted pumpkin, plum, avocado, blood. The whole place was alive with statues and paintings and more art than I could process at a glance. 

A short, cute guy with longish hair hummed along to exotic music and danced toward us. He stepped up to Raphael, tilted back his head, and puckered. Once kissed, he unfolded a sign above his head. Flowers, planets, and butterflies swirled around flawless calligraphy: 

WELCOME HOME, SAM!

My laugh sounded like a sob even to my own ears. 

Raphael dropped a warm hand on my shoulder. “This is Gabriel Leitz, resident documentary filmmaker, and sous chef.” 

Gabriel dropped the sign and curtsied. Then, he clapped twice and the overhead lights cut off. The room fell dark for a second before Christmas lights illuminated the loft in even more brilliance and life. 

I covered my mouth, spinning to explore the new perspective of the already breathtaking space. There were murals and inspirational quotes on the walls that were only visible in the half-light. My chin trembled, eyes already flooding.

“Wow.”

“Okay. Kill it, Gabe. Too much, too soon.” 

Gabriel clapped, returning t he apartment to its normal lighting. Raphael guided me towards spiral stairs encased in a lifelike Maché snail’s shell. I swept my hand over the iridescent paint and studied the detail. 

“Studios are upstairs,” he said.

By the window, a  huge, wooden, rainbow-striped hand offered a lemon-yellow middle finger as a backrest. 

Gabriel lead me by the hand to the FuckYou chair and pushed me into it. 

“Everything here belongs to everyone here, except for the belongings you brought with you, and even that’s open to interpretation.” 

“Ah, so he joins us.” Raphael smiled at a scruffy blond who entered the room with his hands stuffed down his pockets. “And this is Balthazar.” 

He seemed to be chewing off his tongue. 

“Set and interior design,” Raphael explained since the man didn’t speak. “He made the chair you're sitting in.”

I offered a smile and Balthazar’s nose wrinkled like I’d farted. 

Gabe added, “The kids call him Bzar.”

“Do not call me that,” Balthazar hissed in a British accent and narrowed cold eyes. 

It was impossible not to think of Voldemort. 

Raphael scolded him in a foreign language and Balthazar snapped back. I looked to Gabe for a translation. 

He shrugged. “I don't speak that either. Come on. Let’s get you fed?” 

I left my bag by the chair and followed him to the kitchen - which consisted of a stove, sink, and fridge surrounded by black marble countertop.

“What do you eat, Sam?” 

“Everything.” My stomach concurred.

“Well, it don't look that way to me, kid.” Gabe snickered and pinched my belly.

I laughed and pretended to shield myself.

“We got a pound of bacon in here to eat or toss before Ruby gets here. She keeps kosher, so we got to get the kitchen kosher. That bitch.” 

“My dad’s Jewish,” I said. “So technically, I should probably keep kosher, too.” 

Gabe laughed and stacked ingredients on the counter. “Yeah, right. Your dad’s about as Jewish as the pope.”

“You know my dad?”  

"Yeah. Everybody knows your dad." 

“Is that why I got in?”

“I couldn’t answer that, sweetheart,” Gabe said. “Not my department.”

Before I could insist on more information, a flicker of concern passed over Gabe’s face. “Hey, you two. Bastante!”

The argument between Raphael and Balthazar had grown quieter, but they both looked coiled to strike. Balthazar gave us the finger and Gabe touched his throat. “Brute.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s French. I don’t care.” He shrugged and pointed to the sink. “You. Wash your hands.” 

The showdown ended with Balthazar’s exit. Raphael sighed and sat at the head of the counter. He poured himself a tall glass of red wine and Gabe presented him with the first plate. “Is he going to be like this the whole time? 

Raphael shook his head. “He'll get over it.”

I hadn’t eaten pork since the slaughter, and with someone keeping kosher, it was a chance to do the same. Even without the meat,  Gabe conjured the most amazing meal I’d ever eaten. He settled beside Raphael and waited for him to begin before he lifted his fork. 

“Gabe. These pancakes are insane!” I blurted around the first bite.

Raphael drew Gabe’s hand to his lips. “Culinary magic once again." 

Gabe lowered his gaze and smiled. I looked away when Raphael’s hand curled around his neck, but there was no way to escape the slurps and moans. When I dared peek again, Gabe’s face was upturned, waiting to be fed a morsel of cheese.

“Are you a virgin, Sam?” Raphael asked like he was inquiring about the weather.

Gabe said, “If you are, don't tell Castiel.” 

“I'm not,” I said.

But I had made a pact on the bus: Fresh start. New Me. No pretending. No boyfriends, no girlfriends. No sex. Daily scripture and prayer.

Raphael studied my face. 

Gabe snicked around a mouthful of eggs and said, “I have 20 dollars that says Cas jumps Sam like a honey badger.” 

Raphael put down his fork.  “If he does --” 

“ _ When  _ he does.” 

“Sam,” Raphael said. “You have to remember, our Castiel is like an unfixed puppy. He means no harm; he just wants to hump everything.” 

“Remember when he came on to Ru?” Gabe laughed while he was chewing and wound up choking.

“Ruby is…” Raphael pounded on Gabe’s back and searched for the right words. “Don't mess with her. She doesn’t like living things.” 

“And if you’re wondering, yes, we will talk shit about you when you're not around.” Gabe raised his glass. “Drink your milk.”


	23. Chapter 23

Human again after a shower, I settled in front of the MacBook that was provided along with the full scholarship, courtesy of the Novak Foundation.

My mom’s image on Skype was fuzzy and her face looked strained. She started speaking and the screen froze. When I restarted the call using only audio, she sniffled. “I pushed you into this, Sam. You can come back. Now that you have your GED, we can enroll you in some college classes. This is too much too soon. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Mom, I’m fine.”

I opened a browser and studied Raphael’s website for the hundredth time. He’d worked with everyone from Alexander to Vera Wang.

“You like the city?”

I nodded, although she couldn’t see me. “So far. Why didn't you tell me you know these guys?” 

“I don’t,” she said. “Your father studied with Gabriel Leitz and Balthazar Monroe before we got married. And he says they’re among the best at what they do. How is the place?” 

A knock came at the door and I told her I had to go.

Raphael waited for a formal invitation before he crossed the threshold with his hands behind his back like a military officer. 

“I hope we haven’t made too awful a first impression. My boys can be ... much.” 

“No. You guys are...” My vocabulary was inadequate. “I like it here.” 

“Good.” Raphael nodded. “One more thing. You applied as gender-neutral, and stated that your pronouns are their/they/them.”

That last bit was Ms. Scott’s idea. It sounded like multiple personality disorder to me. I’d spent half of the bus trip reconciling with male pronouns. I’m Sam, I have a penis, call me ‘he’. That would simplify life for me and everyone else.  

I was about to tell Raphael when he continued, “It’s our policy to keep close communication with parents. Your father has requested we to refer to you by your biological gender.” 

That fucking weasel.

I tried to keep my face blank, but my skin was on fire. 

“You look like you've heard this song before.” 

It wasn’t the pronoun. It was the underhanded, backstabbing attempts of that small-minded automaton to control me when he couldn’t even adhere to the law.

“He seems to believe,” Raphael said. “And I think he's right, that sexuality and sexual identity can vary as we mature. He thinks it will be simpler for you if we acknowledge your dick.”

“Did he say that?” 

“No.” Raphael’s smile was a rare thing of beauty. “Not exactly. I wanted to make sure it wasn't a deal breaker for you.” 

“My dad’s in prison, you know?” 

He nodded, solemn again. “Yes. I am aware.” 

“I don't think he's the best person to give life advice.” 

“That's not for me to decide, Sam. He's your father, and your mother agreed.” 

“That bitch.” 

Raphael tittered. “If it's any consolation, being a man is not so bad. Except for the shaving. I hate that shit.” 

I pressed my fingers to my eyes, forcing back the tears. That was another New York resolution: no more crying. 

Raphael said other stuff, I nodded and pretended to hear. He rubbed a small, strangely comforting circle on my shoulder, then left me alone. 

It’s true.  That city never sleeps. The train rattled, dogs barked, horns blared, sirens moaned - all night long. I didn’t do much sleeping either. Mostly, I sat awake, thinking about Dean.

 

*******

 

When the locks turned,  I looked up from a breathtaking, homemade breakfast burrito. 

The girl was gorgeous. The strap of a tattered bag slung across her chest like a beauty pageant sash. Three leather belts slung around saggy, black jeans. She couldn’t be much older than I was, but a gallery of tattoos showed through her torn tank top.

“Ru-baby! You look like a peacock.” Gabe waggled his fingers over his head to imitate the electric blue shock of hair on her otherwise shaved scalp.  

She flipped him off and trudged to the bedrooms without raising a pierced eyebrow at me. 

A door slammed.

Gabe called out, “Welcome home Sunshine,” and poured more cold-pressed orange juice into my glass. 

After breakfast, there was a new sign posted on Ruby’s door:

 

Do not knock.

Do not enter. 

Do not look at this door.

Keep moving.

Yes, you, Princess.

 

I retreated to my room and turned on a little Tay: 1989. Within a minute, a hideous racket rattled the windows. It sounded like demons had moved in next door and started a rock band. 

I knocked on the wall. Then, I slammed it with my palm. Banged with a shoe. When I couldn’t take anymore, I stomped to Ruby’s bedroom door and smacked with both open hands. 

She appeared to the screech of heavy metal guitars, eyes glazed over with hatred. I flinched at the noise.

“Can you turn that down? Please?” 

“No.” She stepped back and closed the door. 

I was still standing there in awe, staring at her Get Lost sign when Raphael entered the hallway and knocked. It’s a miracle that Ruby could hear, but she opened the door and pointed in my face.

“I can’t concentrate with that shit on.”

“You both need to wear your headphones.” Raphael placed a hand on my back, ushering me to my room. 

 

*******

 

After dinner, Raff suggested I fetch my sketchbook and draw with him. I sat on the sofa with my bare feet on the coffee table mimicking each line he painted onto the canvas. 

The door clicked open behind me. Raphael turned to look, so I did the same. A dark-haired guy with thick, black glasses dropped the handle of his silver rolling suitcases and spread his arms like Jesus. 

“My people.” 

He was nice looking, but he was also wearing a trench coat in 90-degree weather. That and the width of his smile made his sanity questionable.

Castiel.

Gabe abandoned his laptop to wrap the guy in a rough hug and lift him from the floor. Castiel slung an arm over Gabe’s shoulder and waved. “Hey, Raff.” 

“Cassie,” Raphael replied with his back turned.

I returned to my work, as well, imitating his strokes. Before I knew what was happening, my mentor had stationed himself between me and Castiel with a hand on the young man’s chest.

“No way. Too young.” 

Gabe settled back at his computer and laughed. “I still want my money.”

Castiel closed his arms around Raphael’s unrelenting body. “I can’t say hello?”

“Hello and goodbye.”

Castiel peeked over his shoulder and whispered, “Papa Smurf.” 

I hid my snicker so as not to offend Raff. 

Gabe cozied up behind him, burrowing his face between his shoulder blades. “He’s not Papa Smurf. He’s Azrael.” 

“Nope. Balthazar is Azrael,” Castiel corrected. 

Balthazar was Evil Smurf, but I kept that private.

“True.”  Gabe slid his arms around Raphael’s waist, his hands trailing down his chest. “Then, who am I?” 

Raff spun to face him and dropped a kiss on his nose. “You’re Handsome Smurf.” 

“That’s not a thing.” Gabe grimaced. 

It was Vanity, but again I didn’t volunteer. 

While they talk Smurfs, Castiel dribbled onto the sofa beside me. Gabe held out his hand and Castiel slapped him low five before splaying his arms across the back of the couch like he owned the thing and anything on it.

He peeked over my shoulder, “Nice work.” 

His leg knocked against mine and I pressed my knees together, leaning away from a cloud of cologne, thick enough to taste. 

Raphael’s face hardened for combat, but Gabe stepped into his line of sight and said, “Let the children play.”

“Whatever happens here is your fault.”

Gabe held a hand to his heart and said, “All my fault.”

I hunched my shoulders. Castiel’s breath on my ear was making my skin prickle.

“Hey.” He offered the hand that wasn’t behind my shoulder. “James. Friends call me Castiel.”

Friends should have called him Corny. I declined the hand but muttered my name.

“You’re exquisite, Sam.”

Gabe cackled from behind his screen. “Easy, tiger. You want to bring it in slow.” 

“No,” Castiel said. “No, I really don’t.” 

I swallowed thickly, eyes trained on my work.

“So, how young are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Whoa. That’s—” 

“Illegal,” Raff said and finally yanked Castiel off the sofa. 

"Yeah. So, is sodomy in half the world. Does it stop you? No. Nor should it.” 

Raphael rolled his eyes and pointed his paintbrush toward the bedrooms. 

“Well. You’re still beautiful.” Castiel reached his hands to the ceiling and roared an ostentatious yawn.

I was already boring. Good.

He whistled as he rolled his luggage from the room.

“And that.” Gabe gestured after him. “Is Cas.”

He wasn’t that bad. I could survive two years of this.


	24. Chapter 24

I read a Bible verse on my phone every morning. Prayer wasn’t as easy. I’d close my eyes, bow my head and think of Dean in my hand or how much I wish I’d gotten to taste him. 

After a while, I stopped trying. If there was a God, He knew I was a filthy sinner and already had a cell in Hell assigned for me. In the meantime, I was in Brooklyn.  

Ruby spoke directly into Castiel’ camera. “If you don’t get away from me, I will shove that thing up your ass.” 

She went back to painting glimmering green onto the panel. 

I pinned the hem of the hideously cute, ruffled chiffon dress I’d been working on for two weeks. Unicorn Barfs a Dress, was the direction. For the first time, hundreds of people would see my work. So, no pressure. 

Castiel directed his lens on me. He fluffed the hair from my ponytail over my shoulder and smiled. “This angel is Sam Cohen. You want to tell us about your piece, Sam?” 

“This is, um... Galinda, Act 1.” 

“Beautiful.” He tweaked my nose.  “And can you tell us what role you had in this costume?” 

“I, um…” 

His fingers crawled down my arm, warming my skin, turning my stomach.

I knew how to make a boy leave me alone. I’d told Dean to stop a thousand times. Somehow, with Castiel, in New York, I was out of my element. 

This was supposed to be my sanctuary. I wanted to call them Cas and Ru and to have inside jokes. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. He was just being annoying.

I whispered, “Castiel, stop it.” 

“Eyes on the camera, sweetie. Sam designed and created it, right? Under the brilliant guidance of Raphael Abbé.” 

His hand landed on my thigh and wormed its way under the fringe of my shorts. Castiel lowered his camera to record his fingers. I held my breath, pressed my wrist to my cock and begged it not to respond, so he wouldn't think I liked it.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve got here?”

I mouthed the words, “Please, stop.”

Castiel licked his lips and pinched my thigh. “Yeah. I think we got it.”

 

*******

 

Raphael had boarded the windows and painted the walls of his studio black. The only furniture was his desk and chair. He pored over my latest drawings and tapped a manicured finger on one of my models. “I’ve been meaning to ask, is this a male or a female?” 

“Why does it matter?” 

“Because I’m nosy.”

I sighed. “Male.”

“Should we talk about him?” 

I gnawed my cheek. 

Raphael was a good listener. I’d told him what I knew about why my dad got arrested (which was not much). He shared what it was like growing up without a father. Officially, he knew his dad and was supposed to be proud that the old man was a world-famous artist. But Raff only saw him a few times a year and never even knew his favorite color.

He could always put things into perspective like that, but I hadn’t mentioned Dean. I didn’t want to talk about him. I wanted to pretend he didn't exist. Maybe he never did. Maybe he was just a nightly dream I could only put out of my mind by helping Gabe with meals, and volunteering for chores the others dodged.

“Is he real or imagined?”

“Real. I think.” The tears I’d been evading crashed against the back of my eyes.

“Here or in Kansas?”

“There.”

“Does he know?”

“Know what?” My throat was scratchy, but my face was still dry.

“That you're obsessed with him.”

I huffed and covered my mouth. When I was sure I wouldn’t erupt, I answered, “He doesn't talk to me anymore. I don’t think he would care.” 

Raphael nodded and circled the design to embellish. As he slid the book across the desk, he said, “We’ve all been there, Sam. If you want to get over him, I suggest you vary your models. You haven’t drawn a different face since you got here. 

Otherwise, lovely work, as always. We’ll start on the pattern tomorrow.” 

 

*******

 

I yawned into my palms and stretched on my way into the common room. As Balthazar started out of the door, Raphael entered from the other side of the loft, where the teacher’s quarters were located. 

Ruby and Castiel were already in the hall bickering, as usual. 

Raff shouted something in French. At the sound of his voice, Balthazar halted, hand glued to the doorknob. 

“I didn't think ... Sam would be interested,” he spoke as if my name was rancid. 

Raff placed a hand on my shoulder. “A civilized person would ask.” 

Ruby leaned in the door and whined.  “Come on.” . 

Balthazar narrowed his snake eyes at me and mumbled, “We're going into the city.” 

“Sam, get dressed.” 

I hopped to obey Raphael’s command. A shower would have been ideal, but I skipped it, grabbed my wallet and shoes. My stomach complained, but I didn’t say a word.

In the train, Castiel slung his arm over my shoulder and sucked on my earlobe.  “You are so fucking pretty.”

“Castiel, please.” I wiped the spit onto my shirt and tried to turn away. 

Balthazar studied the map and pretended not to see Castiel’s hand under my chin, pulling my face toward his.  All of sudden, he was on the floor of the train.

“She said fuck off.” 

I thanked Ruby with my eyes and didn’t correct her mistake. Despite Raphael’s orientation talk, he and Gabe always referred to me by my name, leaving the other apprentices to make their own assumptions.

As we walked the Museum of Fine Art, Balthazar answered Ruby’s insightful questions. Twice, he snatched Castiel away from touching priceless masterpieces. He never once addressed me. 

Breakfast finally happened around 4 PM between the graffiti and bird shit on a boulder in Central Park. I moaned as I bit into my second hot dog.

Castiel slid his finger through my mustard and sucked it off his finger.“So, why do you and Bzar have beef anyway?”

“I don’t have beef with anyone.” 

Balthazar was scary, so I kept away from him.

“Some people just hate each other,” Ruby said, chiseling a moon into the rock with her pocket knife. “I knew, immediately, the first time I saw you, before you even opened your stupid fucking mouth, that I would hate you forever.” 

Castiel ripped her blade from her hand and held it out of her reach.  “I think it’s because he wants you,”

Ruby punched him in the gut.

Castiel dropped the knife to clutch his stomach, coughing as he laid out his theory. “He wants her, and it's making him fucking crazy to see her and not have her because he's so old and she's this young, tender blossom. And you’re pissed because Balthazar wants an angel and not a crotchety dyke.” 

Ruby shoved Castiel so hard he tumbled off the rock and struck his head on the pavement. “He doesn't want any of us because he's a teacher and he's not like that.” 

When  Castiel didn’t reply right away, I put down my hot dog and rushed to his side. He slowly sat up and pressed a hand to his head, pulling his palm away bloody.

He’d finally managed to sit up when Balthazar joined us. “What the hell is going on over here?” 

“He fell.”

Ruby looked to me for corroboration.

Castiel hissed. “Your groupie whore tried to kill me.”

She rushed at him and Balthazar stepped between them. 

“Well, get him up?”

I helped Castiel to his feet and he hung his arm over my shoulder, still clutching his head.

“Are you bleeding?” Balthazar scowled. “Jesus, what is wrong with you people? We can’t go out for a single afternoon without one of you cracking his skull. And why is it always you, Castiel?”

“That bitch is out of this school,” Castiel said.

Ruby dropped at her side, desperate glance ricocheting between me and Castiel.

“All right, calm down, boy wonder,” Balthazar said, still making no attempt to tend to Castiel’s wound. “Sam, did you see what happened? No? Then, both of you shut up and let’s go.”

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

_ Dear Dad,  _

_ How’s prison?  _

_ Probably still sucks.  _

_ As you know, I’m doing this program in NY. Seems like everyone here knows you from back when you were cool. Maybe when you get out, you can get a job at a place like this.  _

_ Anyway, it’s pretty decent. Raphael is a fucking genius. We’re making this quilt and I’m getting to use his HQ Fusion, which is the shit.  _

_ Don’t know what else to write.  _

_ Sam  _

I  ripped the page out of my notebook, balled it up, tossed it into my trash can. Then, I lit the evidence with a match I’d stolen from Ruby’s room while she was in the shower.

I think of myself as an intelligent person. That fire was not my brightest moment. 

*******

I followed t he scraping to a room I never knew existed. No answer to my knock, so I opened the door and couldn’t pull myself away, even though further spying meant certain death.

The bird of paradise on Ruby’s shoulder flexed with each movement as she sanded the wood panel. After a few minutes, her back stiffened and she peered over her shoulder.

“What the fuck are you looking at, princess?” 

She snapped the white breathing mask onto her forehead. 

“Nothing. You’re…” I pointed to her work, like a moron. “They’re amazing.” 

“What do you want, Sam?” 

“Is it... Would it be okay with you, if I draw them? Some of your tattoos?” I held up my drawing pad like a journalist's pass. 

“As long as you shut the fuck up.” 

I sat with my back against the wall for a few moments before I asked a question that had been on my mind since arrival: “So you’re Jewish?”

“I said shut up.”

So, I shut up and drew her in vivid detail, as she continued with her work. Even when she paused for a drink, Ruby acted as if I wasn’t there.

“Are you trans?” The words slipped from my mouth before I had a chance to think. 

Ruby sat up on her haunches, hands on her thighs, glaring bloody murder. “Castiel told you that? The piece of shit.” 

“No. I just... 

“I am a lesbian, Sam.” She wiggled her tongue between two fingers. “Sketch that.”

She went back to sanding. Then she stopped, looked at me, head tilted. Her mouth fell open. 

“Fuck. I knew something was off about you. So... what are you, exactly?” 

“Human.” 

Ruby snorted and dropped her sandpaper. I sat perfectly still while she looked me over like something at the zoo. She made no attempt to hide the disgust as she stared at my crotch.

“I hate trannies.”

“I’m not—“

“Then, what the fuck are you?”

I didn’t try to answer. Mrs. Scott had taught me a word, but I wasn’t ready to use it. 

“Exactly. And freaks like you, who don’t know what they are, make life harder on the rest of us.” 

 

*** 

 

Gabe applauded like Castiel had won an Oscar instead of blowing out 21 candles. 

“Did you make a wish?” 

“Yeah,” Castiel gazed at my mouth. 

Warmth washed over me, but I refused to meet his eyes. 

Gabe laughed and squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “Subtlety is an art form?” 

Just because my body responded to Castiel didn’t mean I wanted him looking at me, touching me, saying those things.

“Sam, you tell me if you ever want him to stop it.”  Raphael said.

I nodded. 

Gabe swatted Castiel’s bottom. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s all talk and no teeth.”

“You want to see my teeth, Daddy?” Castiel grabbed Gabe around the middle and humped his leg. 

Gabe laughed, but Raphael separated them and dropped Castiel into a chair.

“So, grown man.”  Ruby held out a plate for a piece of the cake. “When are you getting a fucking job?”

“Actually, Rubella, if you must know, Gabe and I are talking about my final project.” Castiel popped his collar.

Balthazar was busy bottoming out his third mimosa. Raphael settled behind his chair, rubbing his shoulders and whispering something that made ol’Voldie smile.

Balthazar even asked, “So, what does one give the man who already has everything?” 

Castiel pulled me from my stool into his lap. “I'd take a kiss.” 

As I scrambled to escape his arms,  Gabe leaped over, held Castiel’s face between his hands and laid on a sloppy smooch. Castiel grabbed the back of his head and moaned. 

Ruby spat her orange juice back into the glass to keep from spraying it across the table when she laughed. Raphael slow clapped, and even Balthazar cracked a grin until he saw that I’d caught him happy. Then he reverted to his standard constipated expression.

My  phone buzzed in my pocket. 

MOM: Hey. How ru?

SAM: Good? U?

MOM: Good. Just checking in.

SAM: K. Night.

That was the extent of most of our conversation in those days.

Castiel snatched my phone. “That your boyfriend?”

Raphael held out his hand and returned it.

“My mom,” I said.

Gabe snuggled under Raff’s arm and asked, “How’s things in Kansas?”

“Are you seriously from Kansas?” Ruby sucked icing from her fingertip.

“It's where my mom lives.”

“Where did they hatch you, Sam?” Gabe continued with the 20 questions.

“Isn't this Castiel’s party?”

“So, I get to ask the questions?” Castiel grinned.

“You get to do whatever you want,” I said without thinking.

His brow raised. 

“Down boy,” Raphael ordered.

“Never.” Castiel consulted his watch. “But we’ll have to continue this conversation later, because I have a date, so ... I will see you suckers later. Night, Sam."

Who was Castiel’s date? Did he like girls or guys? What was he into, other than me? If he even liked me. Maybe I was a game. A kind of cat toy to keep his claws sharp, but nothing he’d actually eat.

An unwelcome twinge pulled at my chest. It couldn’t have been jealousy because Castiel was a nuisance and I did not care if he had a date or a thousand dates. 

It was his birthday. He could do whatever he wanted. 

I should have noticed that Castiel had soaked in cologne instead of just rolling in it like he usually did. The suit jacket should have been another dead giveaway. Usually he wore polo shirts and khakis.

“Wrap it up, Romeo,” Gabe shouted as Castiel shut the door behind him. “Monopoly anyone?” 

Ruby groaned and disappeared with another slice of cake.

“One round of Uno.” Raphael carted a bottle of wine and a glass to the sofa. 

It was  Balthazar’s day for dish duty. As he got to work, Ruby’s Screamo seeped through the walls. Gabe broke out a deck of cards, sat and pulled Raff’s feet into his lap. Then he gestured for me to join them. 

I focused on my hand, aiming for casual when I asked, “How old is Ruby?” 

Gabe glanced at the kitchen to see whether Balthazar was listening.  “Seventeen. She was thirteen when we fished her out of the Hudson covered in barnacles. Pick four.” 

I obeyed the card.  “Where’s she from?” 

“You know, you could ask her.” 

“Yeah. And she could eat my face.” 

“All bark, Sam." Gabe lay down a small stack of cards. "She acts like a mongoose so nobody finds out she's a sweetheart.” 

I leaned close to whisper, “Does she ... is she really... you know... Balthazar?” 

“Who knows what's going through that head anymore? She used to actually talk. A couple years ago she confessed her undying love and... well, you can imagine how that went.” 

“He shot her down.” 

“No.” Gabe winced. “Of course not. He sat her down and explained that she's wonderful, and that he's not into girls, and if he were, and she wasn't a child ... You know, the whole sensitive paternal figure schtick. It was sweet. He handled it beautifully.” 

Gabe peeked over his shoulder and lowered his voice.

“Speaking of tough exteriors. He's a softy, Sam. That's the problem. Just give it time.” 

“What are you hens clucking about over there?”

“You, Gorgeous,” Gabe answered Balthazar with a smile. “What else is there?”

I’d  been there over a month. He wasn’t going to magically start liking me. Balthazar did, however, bring his glass and help himself to some of Raff’s wine.

Gabe played another card.  “Speaking of gorgeous, how’s that father of yours?”

Raff nudged him.

“What? Sam knows Matt is a great looking guy. You know that, don’t you?”

He was okay; I guess.

“I would’ve ridden that train to glory and back again. Sadly, never got the chance.”

“Gabriel. Enough,” Raff growled.

Gabe shut his simpering mouth, but the damage was done. Even Balthazar walked out.

“Dude.”  I shuddered. that’s my dad you’re talking about.”

“Dude. Your dad’s hot.

“Uncool, Gabe.” I shook the Oedipal image from my head.

“Sue me.” Gabe shrugged, laid down a card and snapped his fingers. “Also, Uno, bitches."

  
  



	26. Chapter 26

_ Stardust. Floating. Soaring. Over every head.  _

_ I spread my arms and smile down at the crowd. Spinning on borrowed six-inch heels until I topple.  _

_ Raphael lifts me like a feather and twirls me over his head. “Alright. No more candy for Sam.”  _

_ He tosses me in the air and fierce, beautiful Ruby smooshes her hand in my face when I tried to kiss her.  _

_ My grin devours the world. The whole club is full of my teeth, dancing, grinding to bone-thumping bass while my tongue rolls underfoot.  _

_ Raphael is a dark angel in white chiffon. I have to taste him. Press my lips to his silver mouth and try to drink him whole.  _

_ “Sit down, you silly thing. Some people should never do drugs.”  _

_ I collapse, weightless, onto a sea of black leather. _

_ Gabriel in a collar with suspenders hiding his nipples. I snap them and laugh at his pain. Gabriel. So cute. I need to touch and kiss. _

_ His eyes shut, head lolls, exposing a giraffe’s neck - spots and all. I latch on and suckle like a teeny tiny baby, filling up on sweet, sweet sweat. _

_ Raphael tugs the leash and drags away my delicious treat. Gabriel licks his hand and cries, “Woof." _

_ Castiel grabs my wrists. “Dance with me.” _

_ So I dance with the blue-eyed, black-scaled dragon who slays the prince in my dreams. His breath sears my face. Chest to chest, and my body burning everywhere he touches. _

 

*******

 

My purple Vans were starting to squeeze my little toes. They fit a little better without socks. I shrugged on my messenger bag and consulted the mirror again. Anybody’s guess would be wrong. No makeup, hair scraped back and braided at the neck. City uniform of black on black. Neither nor.

“Hey.” 

I  could have pretended not to hear Castiel, but I grimaced, turned and said. “Hey.” 

“How do you feel?” Castiel held his knuckles to my forehead.

“Honestly? I feel like soup.” I’d had to roll onto the floor to coax myself out of bed. “I will never do that again.”

“You seemed pretty into it last night.” He laughed. “Where are you heading?”

“I have a, um... an appointment with a comic artist.” 

“Cool. You mind if I walk you down to the train?” Castiel stepped into his loafers. “I was going out, anyway.” 

“Whatever.” It was a free door. 

“So, you into comics?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Like, classics or the new ones?” Castiel shook his head. “You know, honestly, I know nothing about comics.” 

He was so goofy and almost likable when he wasn’t impersonating an octopus.

"I write them,” I said. “It’s what I want to do. Besides designing.” 

“That’s cool.” Castiel was a few inches shorter. He skipped a little to keep up with me. “Well, good luck, Sam. This is me.”

Cas pointed at the basketball courts, saluted and crossed the street without bothering to look for traffic. 

I’d never seen him play and didn’t have time or interest to investigate. On the way to train, I passed a woman with matted hair fished a pizza box out of a trashcan and hissed at me. What would Dean think of this place?

New street art on the subway walls. The stench of piss. 

He was probably working at the garage, chasing Adam, or buying a burger for some Real Girl. 

I stuffed my buds in my ears, itching for punishment so I put on “Last Kiss.” My blood flooded cold as I leaned my forehead against the glass. 

*******

Eddie Vane wrote and illustrated the cult classic, Marshmouth. I had every single one of the guy's comics. He was the artist I mimicked before figuring out an original style. 

That Eddie Vane had my favorite issue of Gritslarn in front of him, and instead of being totally rapt by the art or the story, he kept glancing up. 

I knew the look. He couldn’t tell, and it bothered him. Probably, he’d expected a boy. Instead, he got me. I might’ve scratched my balls, or done an armpit fart, or something to make it easy on the guy if I could figure out why it mattered. 

“It's superb, Sam. Great story. Funny, and a little sad. Your drawing is sick, though. Unique. Reminds me of, like, a blend of manga and Manfred Schmidt. You know who that is?” 

I nodded. Marshmouth was heavily influenced by Schmidt’s work.

“So, Gabe said you're looking for an internship?” Eddie closed the cover and pushed Gritslarn back across the table. 

I slid it back into the plastic cover. “I'm happy to do coffee runs or whatever. Just want to get a sense of how you work.” 

“Yeah. I think we can do something like that. A few hours, once or twice a week.” Eddie probably didn’t even know he was staring at my chest instead of my eyes. 

Hunting for a shadow of tits.

I shook his hand. 

“So, is your name short for something?”

I smiled. "No. Just Sam." 

 

*******

 

I’d forgotten to charge my phone, so it died on the train ride back. That meant no more music. It was also the only reason I heard the shouting across the street as I  strolled back down Nostrand Avenue. I couldn’t resist the grin at the sight of Castiel playing basketball. 

He waved. 

It was an exquisite fall day in the city, no time to be sitting around inside. I sat on a bench, legs crossed, watching the boys play. 

Castiel shouted and ran with the best of them, but he really sucked. He could barely dribble. On the rare occasion that anybody passed him the ball, he lost it again within a matter of seconds.

“Man, sit your scrub ass down.” One guy light heartedly scolded.

I covered my laugh and Castiel bounce passed me the ball.

“Go ahead. I'll be your cheerleader,” he said and guarded my bag.

I hadn’t played any sport in years. Neither of my parents was athletic. That had been one thing I’d missed about leaving school. 

Basketball is harder than it looks. I missed every shot and although my teammates were good, we got dusted. Still, playing had been more fun than I’d had in a long time. I shook hands with every guy on the court.

“We’ll get ‘em next time, Ma.” 

I smiled and Castiel swung an arm over my shoulder. 

One of my teammates kissed my hand. “This girl right here is fine. You know that, right? With them long-ass legs. You better watch out, Cas.” 

He grinned. “Oh, you can believe, I will.” 

I walked back to the building under his arm. Castiel opened the door and motioned for me to enter first. 

Everyone was gathered in the loft. Ruby scowled between us like hanging out was a crime. Gabe looked near tears. Balthazar bowed his head and turned away as Raphael dropped his brush and wiped his hands on a towel. 

“Sam, your mom’s been trying to reach you all day."  
  



	27. Chapter 27

There were fewer than 20 people in the church. Nobody bothered saying nice things about Campbell, not even my mom. And she didn’t cry. Then again, neither did I. 

I sat there in that grey suit, staring at my hands, thinking about how I’d predicted that I’d wear it to a funeral.

The minister gave a limp sermon about the golden rule and announced that Campbell was survived by his daughter, Mary and his grandson, Samuel. It wasn’t the time for corrections. 

They made me carry the casket, along with John Winchester, Dean and some other guys I didn’t recognize. Adam was busy ripping paper eulogies into thin, edible strips.  Dean held the handle behind me, no doubt staring daggers of loathing into my spine. I concentrated all my energy on not letting my sweaty palm slip away

Even fewer folks attended the burial.  M y mother gave me the shovel. The dirt thumped on the casket. Campbell did not knock back from the inside. He did not shout, ‘I’m not dead yet.’

The only person I knew would get that joke was my Monty Python marathon partner, but my dad wasn’t there. 

John Winchester was there, with his meaty paw on my mother’s back.

He was there again, at the head of Campbell’s table, thanking my mother for filling his glass.

“Johnny, would you say grace?” 

Johnny?

Grace?

Three months and my mother had conveniently neglected to tell me she’d undergone a brain transplant. 

Or removal, was more like it. She had to have lost her mind to date that animal again.

John Winchester bowed his head and mumbled something about the Lord, and bounty, and some other stuff that might as well be Cantonese. When he’d finished, Mom offered him the carving knife. 

Because that’s what he needed: a sharp implement. 

I looked to Dean for some concern about the situation. He stared straight ahead at the wall behind me, so intently that I turned to see if there was a spider. 

John carved the turkey and Mom announced, “We're making this Thanksgiving, since Sam is here.”

Gee, thanks, Mom. Fricking bodysnatcher.

“We could start by going around saying things we’re grateful for.”

If she thought I would take part in our old tradition in that company, she’d really hit her head hard. I was grateful that my dad wasn’t there to see it. But mostly, I wanted to slap Dean’s face and make him look at me, or at least acknowledge that I was in the state.  

John Winchester ate with one hand on his hip like a caveman. My mother vacillated between smiling at him and silently begging me not to say what I was thinking.

For the first time, I noticed the resemblance between John Winchester and my dad: the pitch-black hair, the whole Mediterranean good looks thing. They were both tall with broad shoulders and a strong build. The kind of men who effortlessly command respect.

The differences were glaring though. For one thing, my dad was hysterical. He never stopped joking or laughing. John Winchester didn’t seem capable of either. 

A  stream of gravy ran down Adam’s chin and over his bib. Dean hadn’t lifted his fork. He was too busy perfecting his catatonic stare.

I leaned left, trying to meet his eyes. His chair scraped across the linoleum as he pushed to his feet and shoved out of the back door, letting the screen slam against the frame. 

 

*******

I stared out of the passenger window, biting my tongue while m y mother smoothed my hair. 

“It’s getting so long.” 

I couldn’t even look at her. “Is he going to move in with you now?” 

“He’s a tremendous help, Sam.” 

“You sleep with him?” 

“Not really your business, baby.” 

That was a bone-curdling ‘yes.’

You can know someone your whole life and never realize they’re a filthy, cheating whore.

“What about Daddy?”

“Have you written your father? Even once?” She lashed out sharper than I’d expected or was prepared for. “So don’t talk to me about Matt, okay? I miss him, too.”

“Let me guess. You have needs?”

“Yes, I do. And John is a good man,” she told that lie with her eyes on the road.

“That’s the Stockholm Syndrome talking.” 

“You should have seen him when we were kids, Sam. He was... Every girl in that school wanted him. He used to drive that Impala, the one Dean drives now. He’d do his hair up like Elvis and make up songs on the guitar.” 

“And now?” 

“He keeps my feet warm.” She checked her mirror before changing lanes. “Should I ask about you and Dean?” 

I would be over him. A couple more months of constant distraction and it would have been Dean Winchester who? Now I was back to ground zero. Or worse. He hadn’t just forgotten me. I was persona non grata.

“I know you’ve seen the way he looks at you?”

“He didn’t look at me. Not once.” Icy waves swept through me. “Didn’t say hello. Wouldn’t shake my hand.”

“And what do you think that means, Sam?” 

“That I’m never coming back here. Ever.”

 

*******

 

As the others skated by in circles, Castiel sat on the bench beside me and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and chin in his hand. 

Gabe sprang, leaped, and twirled every time he passed. Raphael mostly clung to the railing, chopping the ice as he tromped around the rink. Ruby and Balthazar skated by with their brows furrowed, voices low like they were plotting world domination. 

Castiel looked at me over his shoulder.  “Were you and your grandpa close?”

“I met him for the first time this year.” 

“Wasn’t the question.” 

Campbell was weird. I’m not sure he could let anybody close, but I couldn’t blame him for that. The more we care about people, the more they disappoint. 

“He made this big thing about accepting me the way I am while he was trying to change me into something else.” 

“That’s kind of what everybody does, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I rubbed my hands together. 

Castiel held my hands between his palms and breathed on them.

I should have pulled away and run back to the ice. My body only wanted to sit with him. 

“I died once.”

If there was one thing you could expect from Castiel, it was nonsense. 

“When I was 12, a friend dared me to go out on this lake where we used to skate, and I fell through the ice. Paramedics pronounced me dead. And then ... I don’t know. Then, I wasn’t.” 

Gabe blurred by in a magnificent spin. 

“Do you remember anything?” 

“Like a light or anything?” he asked. “No. Just ever since then, I don't really give much of a shit what people think of me.” 

I laughed.  “I’d die for that.” 

I should have walked away and let that be the end of the conversation, but  Castiel offered me an earbud. I held it to my ear.

 

_ When I give my heart _

_ It’ll be completely _

_ Or I’ll never give my heart _

 

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Nat King Cole.” 

It was lame music, but I didn’t tell him that. I listened away, sighed and let my head fall on Castiel’s shoulder. 

 

***

 

Hot pursuit of a missing gel pen lead me to the wood workshop. Gabriel looked up from the floor where he was naked on all fours giving Balthazar a piggy back ride. Raphael’s kilt was hiked around his waist as he crouched behind them.

My brain ceased transmission.

The air hung thick with more than sawdust, the smell catching in my throat. Raff's face remained stern and paternal, "I told you to lock the door, Gabriel." 

"Thought I had." Gabe snickered, threatening to topple their early morning game of Twister. 

Balthazar mustered his mask coldest expression but didn’t dismount. "Leave." 

I nodded and backed out of the door, flipping the lock as I closed it.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Castiel stood on the balcony between Ruby and me with his arms over our shoulders. For once, she didn’t push him away or complain.

We all kept still and quiet and marveled.

While Ruby was putting finishing touches to her wall of gears, it didn’t look like much. Onstage, it fit perfectly with the grand scheme of the set design. Perfection. Her content smile was a shooting star: fleeting and brilliant.

Act 1, Scene 4: Galinda entered stage left in my creation. My heart swelled to fifteen times its natural size and seized to beat for a moment. Castiel squeezed my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “Way to go.”

My laughter descended into a tearful euphoria that flooded his shirt.

“Are you okay, Sam? It’s amazing. What’s wrong?”

I clung to him. When Castiel realized that I was laughing, he broke into half-crazed cackles, too. We both hugged and hopped in circles, like we shared a winning lottery ticket.

 

***

 

Gabe’s grandmother knocked him aside to take my hand. “And who’s this handsome young man?”

He subdued a grin as the old woman proceeded to rattle my teeth with her vigorous shaking.

“Bubbe, this is Sam. Sam, this is my grandmother, Clara Leitz.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Clara.”

“Oh, aren’t you adorable. You’re not a fagela like my Baybear, are you?”

Gabe grinned and translated:

Fagela = gay

Baybear = Gabriel’s nickname since the first time he tried to say his own name.

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s just such a waste. Look at him. He’s gorgeous.” Miss Clara patted his cheek and then turned to me. “You like girls, don’t you? I can tell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gabe turned his back, shaking with laughter.

“Good. Because there are so many nice girls for you in this temple. You are Jewish, right?”

“My dad is.”

She dropped my hand, turned and limped to her seat. Gabriel stopped trying to hide his amusement. As he laughed, heclapped me on the shoulder and said, “Chag Sameach.”

I only learned later that it meant Happy Hannukah.

I followed him and sat, then stood, then sat, then stood, and turned and tried to bow when everyone else did. There was no hope when they all started singing in Hebrew. Even Gabe knew the words and strange melodies. He winked over at me and fixed the collar of my funeral suit while I clasped my hands and counted backward from ten thousand.

 

***

 

I smoothed self-adhesive laminate and took inventory of the row of cards spread on my desk.

For Raff, I'd drawn a silver-maned lion wrapped in a Haitian flag. He’s wasn’t Rasta and Rastafarianism originated in Jamaica, but maybe he’d like it anyway.

Gabe’s card featured a court jester balancing on one hand while a crowd clapped. Hopefully, he wouldn’t think it meant that he was an idiot. His cheerfulness always made everyone feel better, and I’d captured his mischievous grin pretty well.

On Eddie’s card, I drew Marshmouth teaching Gritslarn the ABCs. He was a moody, arrogant atheist and would probably complain about the shadowing, but whatever. I felt like making him one, so I did.

Speaking of moody and arrogant, Ruby had complained about the Christmas lights in the living room. Raphael didn’t take them down, because they’re up all year.

“Also,” he said. “they’re lights. How can you get offended by lights?’’

She’d been talking about getting a tattoo of a hummingbird behind her ear. So I drew a few different stylized hummingbirds on her card and wrote HAPPY HANNUKAH in huge block letters on the back.

We didn’t put up a tree. The most Chrismasy thing in the apartment was  Castiel who’d walked around in an elf hat and smoking a pipe for weeks. That is why I drew him as an elf on his card.

My mom’s was her as Tinkerbell. I drew my dad as Wolverine, but I never sent it.

I even made one of Balthazar in his tan leather jacket with a serpentine head. Needless to say, I didn’t give it to him.

I worked on Dean’s card for a week and it was the best. A little Thomas Kinkade meets Marvel, with Dean beside his little house in the woods. One of his dogs had its front paws on a tree, barking at a raccoon. The other one rested in the yard.

 

***

Ruby didn’t bother to say anything before she shipped off. She just wasn’t at breakfast one morning.

The next day, Castiel knocked before he opened my door.

“Sam? You up?”

I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow. He touched my ankle and I sat up with a groan.

“You like it here?”

I nodded and wiped the slime from my eyes. “Yeah. I always thought I was alone.”

“No. You’re not alone, princess. Never again.”

I smiled and he touched my face.

“I’m on my way out. Just wanted to, um... here.”

I blinked at the long box he’d placed on my lap. The dark swirling grain of the wood was so elegant that wrapping it would have been a shame.

I was beginning to understand why Raphael came up with the no gifts rule.

I’d drawn Castiel a cute picture. He bought me a pair of Italian handmade, black leather, silk-lined, elbow-length gloves. I couldn’t have afforded the box.

“I can’t...”

Castiel backed out of the door. “It’s not a gift. It’s just... something you should have.”

I was good and awake at that point, sliding a glove over my fingers and up my arm. So glamorous, I never wanted to take it off.

 

***

 

“Do not...” Gabe held the cleaver in my face. “touch anything.”

“Just trying to help.”

“You can set the table.” He went back to chopping.

“Sheesh.”

I was collecting plates for four when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. Assuming it was my mom, I let it go to voicemail. I’d call her after dinner if I felt like it. When my pocket vibrated again, I put down the forks and looked at the screen.

The room temperature dropped 100 degrees as I dashed to my room, pressed the button, and held the phone to my ear.

“Sam?”

A loud breath escaped my lips.

“Um... I got your card,” Dean said. “And I was just ... I was thinking about you."

My body flushed in cold and hot waves and I closed my eyes to maintain my balance.

“Seeing you at Campbell’s funeral was...”

I should’ve spoken, but my brain was on pause.

“Well, I just wanted to say, hey. Merry Christmas.”

I managed to keep breathing.

“All right. Take it easy, Sam.”

I held the phone to my ear for a full minute after Dean hung up. I clutched my shirt, exhaling in short, labored puffs in physical, mortal pain.

 

***

 

A light buzz makes the world shine softer around the edges. Everything is a little funnier. Nothing sucks like it usually does.

I watched Raff, Gabe and Balthazar watch the ball drop. Raphael kissed Balthazar first, then, Gabriel. Balthazar's eyes remained glued to the TV, his lips around an upturned bottle of champagne as the other two danced to Calypso Rose.

Raphael finally petted my head as he lead Gabe from the living room. “Bonne année, Petit Prince,”

Gabriel waggled his fingers over his shoulders. Balthazar flipped him the bird and passed me the bottle.

“How do you guys decide...” I covered my loose lips.

The corner of Balthazar’s mouth tweaked - attempting a smile as he tugged my legs into his lap. “It’s all right. You have questions?”

I went perfectly still. He’d never willingly spoken, let alone touched me. It was unexpected, but not unwanted contact. My skin and emotions were raw and sensitive enough that Balthazar's kindness was the best Christmas present I could ever remember.

“Our ‘arrangement’ must seem strange to you with your well-adjusted nuclear upbringing.”

I forced down the bubble of stomach acid and champagne trying to escape my mouth. “People should be able to do whatever they want.”

Balthazar stripped off one, then the other of my socks and tossed them over the back of the couch. “That’s rather enlightened of you.”

My lips parted as his strong, carpenter’s hands kneaded my sole, sending surges of heat straight to my crotch. I watched as if it was happening on screen.

“Everybody I know is miserable. If somebody finds a way to be happy, they ought to do it.”

“So, you think fucking Gabe and Raff makes me happy?” Balthazar laughed, lifted my foot and licked the instep.

It was so far outside the realms of the possible; I must be dreaming. Not that I’d ever fantasized about Balthazar, if only for fear he would somehow find out and glare me to death.

“The fact is, I find them both attractive, so I fuck them," he said. “Never fuck anyone for any other reason.”

Grenades detonated in my chest, mind churning but failing to compute what was happening.

I should go to my room, but Balthazar was sucking on my big toe, and I didn’t want to be rude. My lips and eyes opened wide in awed pleasure. Balthazar laughed, letting my foot fall free.

A long, cold finger trailed down my red-hot cheek. “You are a pretty one, aren't you? But that was to be expected. Drink”

I had another swig from the bottle I’d been clinging to like a stuffed animal. Balthazar tipped the bottom, so I swallowed more than intended. He leaned over and lapped up the spill from my chin.

“You ever been in love, young Sam?”

I drowned in memories of swamp-green eyes. What would Dean say if he saw a man my father’s age tap my lips and slip a finger between them?

“Suck.”

I obeyed.

“Good lad.”

Balthazar sat the bottle on the table with a quiet clink. His gaze never broke with mine as he removed my sweatpants and briefs. He smacked my thigh and smoothed away the sting with a firm caress. I fought for each breath, grabbed Balthazar’s wrists as he pinned my knees aside, out of his way.

“Hold your legs.”

He opened and pushed his slacks below his ass.

I whimpered with each slow slide over my taint, boiling alive as he teased my hole.

Nothing had ever been inside me, not even my own finger. I’d always wanted to, but been scared I’d hurt myself or something.

My chest heaved. Balthazar’s expression was cold determination. I didn’t want that snake-man to be my first. I just wanted him to like me.

"Balthazar, leave him." Raphael's voice cracked the cool air.

Balthazar at glared me with his jaw clenched tight, eyes savage.

“Come." Raphael held out a hand. "Take it out on me.”

  



	29. Chapter 29

New Year’s Day, I awoke on the sofa to the rattle and clank of rummaging in the kitchen. My tongue was thick and grimy like I’d been gargling vomit all night. A fleece blanket tented over my boner.

I was wearing the ugly sweater my mom sent, but nothing on the bottom.

One hand held the cover in place and applied much-needed pressure to my situation. My other hand flew to my spinning head when I thought of sitting up.

Gabe’s sauntered across the living room, his Yoda slippers were like jackhammers on my skull. He handed me a mug. “Drink it and live.”

I shrank away from the black, viscous and foul-smelling drink. Gabe reclaimed the cup and held the back of my head while I sipped the evil concoction. It might as well have been demon’s blood for the taste and consistency. I choked it down and descended into a fit of coughing.

“You’re pitiful, you know that.” Gabe smiled and pinned an errant strand behind my ear.

***

Gabriel stood with his arms folded, waiting for the other apprentices to gather on the sofa. Castiel was still into pipe-smoking. He ignored anyone who told him it looked ridiculous.

He puffed away and hung an arm over my shoulder. An attempt with Ruby and earned a swift elbow to the ribs.

“First of all, put that out,” Gabe pointed.

Raphael was MIA.

Castiel hesitated but eventually held his thumb over the bowl to snuff out the smoke.

“We trust you all had a lovely holiday. On behalf of Raphael and myself, we wanted to let you guys know that Balthazar has accepted a position heading a team doing a shoot in Namibia.”

Ruby’s mouth fell open. Castiel toyed with my hair as if he hadn't heard.

“In other news, our boy Cassie here...” Gabe held out a hand in invitation. “You want to tell ‘em.”

Castiel sat upright and fixed his glasses. “I got a job. Jersey cable, but still.”

He said it to me and I responded with a small smile. On his other side,  Ruby had dropped her head into her hands. Balthazar was, her mentor and there was no indication whether someone would replace him.

“Why didn’t he say anything?"

Gabe sat on the arm of the sofa and touched her shoulder. “He would have said goodbye to you all in person, but it was a last-minute offer and... he knew you’d understand.”

“This is complete bullshit.” Ruby sprang to her feet and stuck her finger in Gabe’s face. “You aren’t telling us everything. Where’s Raff?”

She tromped towards the mentor’s quarters and Gabe dismissed us with wide, exasperated eyes.

“You were here,” Castiel said on the way to our rooms. “Do you know what happened?”

I shook my head and disappeared before he could ask anything else.


	30. Chapter 30

Castiel’s gloves were a miracle. The city could be so cold. People passed with their collars turned up, shoulders hunched. Sometimes, it was paradise to disappear among them. Sometimes it made me want to die.

 

***

 

I was only in the bathroom for a few minutes. When I returned someone had pinned an intricate paper heart to my door.

Be mine,

C

My real heart beat double time, even as I rolled my eyes and tried to stop smiling.

Castiel stepped into the hall with a towel around his waist. Pale skin winter-bright and usually gelled hair flying every which way. He smiled at the Valentine in my hand.

“Will you? I mean, that’s a saying.” He chuckled. “I just want to take you to a show or something. Let people see me with you.”

I tried to keep my eyes on Castiel’s face, but they wandered over his strong shoulders and trim chest. He flexed his pecs one at a time.

I shook my head and looked away, but couldn’t help laughing.

“So, is that a yes?”

It was still January - the last day, but still. There was time to change my mind, regardless of how I answered.

It was a bad idea, and I knew it. This was the same guy who used to back me into corners and try to kiss me, even after I asked him not to. He’d become downright sweet in the last few months. The fact that I was considering going out alone with him was a sign of stupidity or loneliness.

But apparently, I was one, the other, or both because I bit my lip and asked, “Hypothetically, what would you want me to wear?”

“Whatever you want.”

 

***

 

We all trudged back through the snow together. The glorious gift gloves were warm, but my jacket was a too-small piece of crap. Castiel caught me shivering and tucked me under one wing of his trench coat.

In protest of Balthazar’s departure, Ruby had begged to go home, but she had no choice but to wait with the mentors until her parents returned from overseas. She scowled at us and launched into a sermon against Hallmark-invented holidays.

Perhaps bolstered by his Sherlock Holmes hat, Cas puffed on his pipe and argued that the tradition started over a millennium ago.

“Even earlier if you considered the Roman holiday, Lupercalia.”

I clung to his waist, soaked up his body heat and listened to them debate over trivia like they were running for public office.

If anyone had asked me, Cas was annoying and Ruby was being bitchy because we were snuggling. Then again, she was bitchy most of the time.

Eventually, she fell behind us. Castiel went on rambling about ancient Roman holidays until a filthy snowball collided with his face and knocked the pipe out of his mouth.

He wiped the muck from his cheek. Then he ducked behind a trash can and launched a vicious counterattack.

I threw up both hands. “Not playing.”

One of Ruby's missiles connected with the back of my head anyway. Castiel braved the open with the can’s lid to grab my arm and drag me to safety.

I was rolling a snowball when I heard my name.

“Sam?”

It took me a second to recognize Abby’s voice, then her waddling, wide-armed form, remarkably resembling an onion in a white down coat with her lime-green curls. I exploded into laughter, ran and lifted her from her feet, if only for a moment.

The smile slid off my face and shattered on the ground when I saw Dean behind the wheel of the Impala, hands at 10 and 2.

“God, he’s a pain in the ass,” Abby said. “We’ve been listening to Hank Williams since Indiana.”

I pressed my face to Abby’s hair, never taking my eyes from the car.

“And who is this doll?” Castiel left cover and offered his hand, narrowly dodging another incoming snowball. “Quit it, you nutty cunt."

“Abby, Castiel Novak. Cas, this is my best friend, Abby.” I winced, waiting for Abby to correct the title.

“Best friend, Abby. It is a pleasure.” Castiel bowed at the waist and kissed her hand

A huge clump of dirt and snow burst against the back of his hat.

“You two will excuse me. I have a homicide to commit.”

Abby laughed, watching those two engage in a high-stakes, urban snow battle, although she declined Cas’ invitation to join forces.

I took a deep breath and shoved my gloved hands into my jacket pockets. The ice crunched under my boots as I walked over and knocked on the driver’s window.

When Dean rolled it a quarter of the way open, I leaned forward and whispered, “License and registration, please.”

He still clutched the wheel with both hands but flicked a finger in Abby’s direction. “I didn’t think you’d want me to let her hitch, so...”

“Are you going to ever get out of the car?”

“Thinking about it.” He didn’t budge. “We can’t stay. She kind of ran away, so ... we’re probably in deep shit when we get back.”

“Are you chewing tobacco?”

“Gum." Dean still refused to look at me. "I quit smoking.”

“That’s good.”

He shrugged. “Don’t want to get lung cancer, do I?”

A snowball hit Abby in her ample belly and Castiel dragged her out of the line of fire.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Dean nodded, but it was another full minute before he wound up the window and unlocked the door. I moved to make space for him to get out of the car. His boots hit the pavement, and he stretched his back. Hands halfway to heaven. So beautiful.

I looked away and stifled the urge to wrap myself around him.

“You still hate me?”

I lowered my face, shaking my head. Dean lifted my chin with one finger.

“Good.”

As he was leaning toward me, a snowball struck the Impala. Dean slammed his door and scanned the street until he found Ruby laughing and retreating toward our building.

"Not fucking funny."

Another snowball hit him between the eyes.

 

***

 

Dean eased back against the middle finger of the FuckYou chair. I straddled his lap and cradled his perfect face between my hands. Traced his lower lip with my thumb, counting freckles, fighting tears.

“Hey.” He stroked my back. “I was an idiot, okay?”

“But you know I’m -”

“I know that you’re not like anybody else. And I know that I don’t want to lose you. Okay?”

I nodded and let Dean clean my cheeks.

“The rest we’ll figure out.”

He kissed me, fingers sliding through my hair.

Across the room, Gabe made a production of clearing his throat. “Do you not have a bedroom?”

“Dean doesn’t...”

I’d lead him directly to my bedroom. He dropped my hand and stepped back from the threshold.

Otherwise, I’d have been naked beneath of him with my legs pointing east and west. In Dean’s lap with his tongue in my mouth was a worthy alternative. If he felt my erection, he didn’t say so. I tried not to grind against his.

Eventually, Dean kissed my temple and tapped my leg. “Stand up.”

I let him go and sat back in the chair, breathing deeply, my head lolling back onto the tip of the finger.

Ruby and Abby whispered on the sofa. Castiel studied me like he expected a quiz.

I crept to my bedroom, peeled down my leggings, spat in my hand and gave my cock a brutal chafing. I bared my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut. Within two minutes, I'd solved the problem.

Once I caught my breath, I wiped my hand on a sock and returned to the living room. Dean and Abby stood near the door, accepting Tupperware from Gabe.

“I hate it, Sam,” Dean curled an arm around my waist. “But we got to hit the road.”

“You’ve only been here a couple of hours.”

“Twenty-hour drive, baby. I got to work day after tomorrow.”

“How are you supposed to--”

“By driving like an insane person, like he did all the way here,” Abby rolled her eyes.

There was no use whining, so I walked them to the car. Dean gave me one last peck, ran his fingers over my cheek. “See you soon, all right? You behave.”

I pursed my lips and watched them until the Impala turned left at the corner. Once they were good and gone, I stood a while longer, letting the wind whip my face.

The door thudded shut. I’d resolved to reach my bed before dissolving into a teary, snotty mess. I’d made it halfway across the living room when Castiel positioned himself in my way.

“Hey. We’re still going, right?"

I couldn’t think of a response. It was obvious that the date was off. My immediate future held a half-gallon of ice cream and crying through a rom-com triple feature on my laptop.

Ruby shook her head, face contorted in disgust. “Castiel, you are the emotional equivalent to Helen Keller.”

“What?” He looked to Gabe for backup. “That guy? He's gone. He's on his way back to Nebraska or whatever.”

Gabe shrugged.

I'm here,” Cas said. “And I want to go out with you. I mean, you can sit around here and cry all night if you want. Or you can let me take your mind off him for a little while.”

Ruby looked like she would vomit. Gabe continued chopping Bok choy.

“I already bought the tickets, Sam. Unless Ruby’s going to come with me.”

“Fat chance, fucker."

  



	31. Chapter 31

The apartment was dark when we stumbled in, laughing. I shushed Castiel and he laughed louder.

Hiding the $200 bottle of whiskey he'd bought on a whim beneath his coat, he pulled my hand and urged me toward his room.

“It’s late.”

“Come on,” he said. “Just a few more minutes. I don’t want to say goodnight yet.”

I’d never been in Castiel’s room. The walls were a rich hunter green. His four-poster, king-size bed was neatly covered with a shimmering, burgundy comforter and a thousand pillows. It was regal, and it suited him.

Castiel helped me out of my dinner jacket and hung it over the back of the black leather chair at his roll-top desk.

“It’s like another universe in here.” I ran a finger over a five-branched, silver candelabra.

Castiel produced a gold Zippo from his pocket and ignited the black candles before flipping off the overhead lights. The flame flickered against the wall, balancing on the fence between either romantic and kitschy. It didn’t matter which ambiance he was creating. It was very Castiel and definitely time to say goodnight.

He slid between me and the door. “What did you think of Rufus?”

“He was amazing.”

Closer to magical from the front row, and considering the Valentine’s dedication Rufus Wainwright sang to me from my ‘not very secret admirer.’ It was an incredible night.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

One of his hands was on my hip. The other worked a remote control, cueing up that song - the one Rufus sang that I loved almost from the first note. I stayed to listen, but only after I’d snaked out of Castiel’s clutches.

“Dance with me.”

“Castiel.”

“Come on. One dance, Sam. It’s Valentine’s Day and I haven’t danced with anyone yet.”

“Just this song.” I crossed my wrists behind his neck. “What’s it called again?”

“April Fools.” Castiel’s lips were warm and soft on my cheek before I pulled away. “Come on, Sam.”

One song turned into two, became an album - and there wasn't ever enough of Rufus' dark crooning - and there was still half a bottle of Castiel’s fiery smooth whiskey.

I collapsed on the floor beside his bed, head spinning, chest warm. Castiel knelt with his hands on my knees. “You and your boyfriend are boiling hot together.”

“Thanks?”

“I took pictures. Do you want to see?”

“No.”

“How long have you two been together?” He pulled my braid over my shoulder and pawed it loose.

“Since last summer.”

“That's not that long.”

“It's long enough.”

I had another swig while Castiel spread my hair over my shoulders.

“Does he let you fuck him?”

Until that moment, I’d assumed Castiel assumed I was a girl. “How long have you known?”

“Known what?” He blinked at the abrupt topic change. “That you're physically a dude? Always. I saw your file before you came.”

He didn’t give me a moment to recover before he repeated the question.

“Does he?”

“It hasn't come up.”

“I'd let you fuck me. I mean, I really want you to.”

“Good night, Castiel.” I stood, and the room tilted.

“Hey.”

I slid back down, leaning my swimming head back against the bed.

“Does he know?”

I nodded.

“Why do I get the feeling you're not entirely yourself with him?”

“You don't know me like that, Castiel.”

“Maybe not. But I know that you’re amazing, and you shouldn’t let anyone or anything stifle you.”

I blinked, trying to make him stop blurring.

“How do you feel now?”

“Dizzy."

It wasn’t what he was asking, but I didn’t feel like having that conversation.

"You make me feel good, Castiel. I feel safe with you.”

“You are safe with me,” he kissed my hand. “And the cowboy?”

It took a moment for the right words to form in my liquor-muddled brain. “I’ve always been afraid of him.”

“Does he hurt you?”

“Not like that,” I said. “Just afraid of what he can take from me.”

“No one can take anything from you, sweetheart.” Castiel twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. “You know how gorgeous you are, right? And smart and talented. I mean, you're fucking perfect, Sam.”

The same lips that spoke those impossible words grazed mine, and I let them. I wanted them. I wanted Castiel sucking my tongue, stroking my hair and humming into my mouth.

He was beautiful, and present, and I didn’t care if he never talked to me again.

He palmed my crotch and swore between his teeth. I lifted my hips and let him pull down my slacks. Castiel licked his lips and practically dove down on me - taking my entire cock in one swift movement.

“Oh, my God.” My lips fell open, hands gripped his shoulders.

I’d always thought Abby was good at it.

Someone had fired a gun and Castiel wanted gold. My grunts blended with the vulgar slurping of spit and pre-come as he rolled my balls, and I tried not to die.

Just when I was on the verge of losing it, Castiel backed off, grinned and wiped the mess from his chin. “You like that?”

Speechless, I nodded.

“Good.”

He helped me stand and leaned me against the door: a toy he’d use again in a moment. Castiel kicked off his pants and stroked himself slowly with one hand, loosening his tie with the other. Eyes fixed on me, he retrieved a container from a drawer and squirted goop onto his palm.

Castiel laid over the edge of his bed, pawed his cheek aside with one hand, displaying his hole. Watching my face for a reaction, he sank his middle finger in as a sigh escaped his mouth.

I gripped the base of my cock to keep from dirtying his carpet.

Castiel smiled and withdrew only long enough to add his forefinger. “You play with yourself like this, Sam?”

I shook my head.

“Feels good. You should,” he said. “Why don’t you come over here? Bring the lube.”

I did as he said.

“And that’s for you.”

My dad had tried to show me how to roll a condom on a banana once, but I’d felt so feminine at the time that I'd wound up crying and locking myself in my room.

I fumbled with the package, but managed. I reached to remove Castiel’s glasses, but he shook his head and looked at us in the mirror. “I want to see what you do to me.”

He held himself open and his hole swallowed my pointer finger, encasing it in tight heat.

“Fuck.”

We said it in unison and Castiel laughed. My body was on fire, brain short-circuiting. It had been begging me to run from the room from the moment I entered.

No chance.

I lined up with Castiel’s entrance, then stopped.

Dean would never let me do this. Dean would hate me if he knew this. He’d also let me suffer  for months without him. Who knew if he would ever talk to me again? Was I supposed to sit around and hope he would call once he got back to Kansas?

“If you don’t want to...”

I drove in slow and steady until the head of my cock breached him. I’d never felt anything so tight and so good in my life. I paused just to keep from coming right then.

Panting, Castiel stood upright and pulled my arms around his chest. Then, he pressed back until I was buried to the hilt. We both groaned.

“God, you’re big,” he hung his head and gasped. “Still growing, aren’t you? You’re going to be a monster.”

That’s exactly what I felt like. Some burning, shaking out-of-control beast. The moment I intended to put a stop to it, my balls clenched tight, and I fell apart.

“Was that...? Wow. Did you just come?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Castiel snickered. “Means you enjoyed yourself.”

I tried to pull out.

“Wait.”

As he brought himself off, his asshole clamped around my softening cock, compelling my hips to thrust again.

“Shit.”

Castiel helped me disengage with the condom intact, tied it off and dropped it in the bin. He shoved me back onto the bed and I hid my face in the crook of my arm.

“Big baby.”

Something cold and wet turned out to be Castiel washing me with a baby wipe. Slightly awkward, but I let it happen. When we were both clean, he pulled on my jacket. It hung from his shoulders like elephant skin.

“You’re going to be fucking huge, Sam.”

“Please don't say that.”

I was 6’1” and already taller than I would have chosen to be. It's impossible to blend in when you're towering over everyone else.

“Your feet and that dick? You got to grow into those.” Castiel stuffed his hands into my jacket pockets and smirked at his reflection.

“I'm not growing anymore."

Castiel shrugged the jacket to the floor. “Okay. Whatever you say, Princess.”

He climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside me. A flurry of goosebumps popped up under his meandering finger.

“So, are you into boys or girls?” I asked.

The finger sketched from the pit of my throat to the base of my cock.

“I like people. Some more than others. You a lot.” Castiel wrapped his palm around my limp shaft and bowed low as if he would suck me again.

I had no business in that room, with Castiel, in his mouth. He was nothing but a paltry substitute.

“I should….” I sat up and scooted off the bed, swooping up my clothes on my way to the door. “I should have a shower.”

“Sam?”

“Hm.” I forced myself to turn around and face him.

“Am I going to be a secret?”

I huffed and tried for a smile. It was a good question. “It was a nice night, Castiel.”

I wanted to say more but couldn't think of anything other than, “Thank you.”


	32. Chapter 32

I was sitting at Eddie’s desk, doing some shading when my phone buzzed. Ever ornery, he shouted from the other room. “If you’re not going to take the call, shut that thing up?” 

Dean’s name blinked on the screen. 

I silenced it and ignored the notice for a new text from Castiel. 

After a few minutes, I powered the phone down, shoved it away from me on the desk, covered it with some papers and went back to work.

*******

 

I leaned in close as I tattooed the letter Q onto the soft skin between Ruby’s ribs and hip bones. She lay on her side with her arm overhead so that our body’s formed a T on her bed.

Did it make us friends? I wasn’t sure, but when Ruby offered me $20 bill for the chance to see her shirtless, I didn’t hesitate. She also offered to kick my ass if I screwed up, so no pressure. 

“Your guy seems sweet,” she said. 

“He is,” I mumbled, trying to concentrate. 

“Corn fed, mid-western boy.” 

I hummed in agreement, waiting for her to change the subject. I’d practiced using this machine on my own arm without the ink and it put an end to my desire for a tattoo. Ruby never even flinched. 

“So, you really are quite the whore, aren’t you?”

I depressed the trigger and sat up to face her.

“I’m not judging,” she said. “Your friend, Abby, thinks you’re all pure as driven snow. But you’re a conniving little tramp.” 

Ruby lay stretched out like Cleopatra. I couldn’t keep up with the insults.

“You’ve got everyone around here thinking you’re teary-eyed over your All-American. Then you hop into bed with Castiel the same fucking day. And don’t deny it, because his room is right next door to mine, and you guys were not exactly quiet.” 

I didn’t deny it. The tattoo machine lay dormant in my vibrating palm.

“Never mind that your so-called best friend comes across the country, and you spend the entire time with your tongue jammed down that pretty boy’s throat. It was Abby’s idea to come over here. Did you know that?” 

I did not know until Ruby’s speech. 

“He would've sat around moping. She got off her ass and made him get off his. And you totally blew her off.”

There was a lull in the sermon, so I wedged in a word of defense. “I hadn't seen either one of them in months.” 

“Yeah, but you let your dick guide your reaction, which is why no matter what you wear, you will never be a woman.” Ruby sat up so she could spew the rest of her venom into my face. “I mean, maybe if you get rid of your junk, and you get all pumped full of fake estrogen. But right now, you're worse than Castiel. Just a horny little mutt.” 

Tears welled up as she continued the onslaught. 

“And quit telling people you’re Jewish. Your mother’s a shiska and you’re a goy.”

I put down the tattoo machine and moved towards the door. 

“Did you sleep with Balthazar, too?” 

Silence was the best I could muster.

“Just get out, you fucking slut." 

I staggered to the door intending to flee outside for some air. Gabe blocked my path through the living room with a hand on my chest. “Hey. What’s wrong with you?”

If I tried to speak, I’d sob.

“Well, you got a bunch of mail.”

A bunch of mail turned out to be a letter from my dad and a silver charm bracelet. I halved the envelope and jammed it into my pocket. I dropped the box into Castiel’s slot. I’d already told him to stop with the gifts.   
  


*** 

 

_ Hey Splashaholic, _

_ Sorry, it’s been a while. _

_ How’s life in the Apple treating you? I always loved it up there.  _

_ Tons of nothing to report from in here. Imagine your most boring nightmare. My new roommate is originally from Madagascar, which I didn’t know anybody was. Always thought it was just lemurs. He’s in for - get this - trafficking penguins. No shit.  _

_ Talks in his sleep, but not in English. Freaky lemur language. Woke up last night, he was kicking my mattress. Top bunk. You know your old man.  _

_ Otherwise, nothing to report. _

_ If you ever get a minute, it’d be great to hear from you.  _

_ Love, _

_ Dad  _

 

***

So far as I could tell, Castiel skipped breakfast and planned to spend the rest of the day sulking in the FuckYou chair. 

On our way out of the door,  Raff called across the room. “Cas, you don’t have work today?”

When Castiel didn’t respond, Raff marched over and kicked his foot. It flew forward, and he crumbled, his elbow falling from his knee, chin slipping from his hand. He adjusted his position and returned to staring out of the window.

I had an interview with a director, and I couldn’t stand to look at him, so we left him in that sad state.

On the train, I stuck in my earbuds and searched for new graffiti. 

_ ‘Wondering if there’s clouds and stuff in Hell’ _

I skipped the Rufus and the Harry Connick songs Castiel had sent me long before that stupid night. 

Katy Perry. Real music. I pulled my foot up onto the seat, resting my chin on my knee. 

Raphael and Gabe watched me, but I was too busy reveling in the possibility of designing an entire show on my own, if the interview went well. Finally, Raff nodded. Gabe crossed the train, settled next to me and tugged out one of my buds. 

“So. You and Cas?” 

“No.” I stuffed the bud back in. 

When  Gabe jerked the cable out of the phone, I sucked my teeth and met his eyes. 

“I believe his precise words were, ‘Sam fucked the shit out of me.’” 

“It was a mistake.” 

Gabriel blinked like he was on stage. “By mistake you mean you wish you hadn't done it, but you did, and now you have to take responsibility for it?” 

“Just the first part.” I sincerely wished it had never happened.

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, he's kind of, a little bit, smitten.”

“You guys said he's like that all the time.”

I already felt like crap and did not need Gabriel rubbing in the salt. I hooked the headphone cable back to my phone.  He yanked it from my  hand and tossed it up the train. When I went after it, Raff took my other side, restraining me from standing.

“I told you that Castiel humps everything,” he said. “Not that everything responds, and not that everything holds his attention. There is, evidently, something about you, Sam, that gets under people's skin.” 

Like everything that ever went wrong was all my fault.

“We fucked,” I shouted. “So what? Everybody’s allowed to fuck but me?” 

That garnered more attention that was desired.  Gabe dropped his face into his palms.

Raphael shook his head in exasperation. “You know how we’re playing school, Sam? Do you know the name of our sole sponsor? The person who signs my check, and Gabriel’s, and owns the building where you sleep?” 

I’d never even thought about it. 

“Carmen Novak.”

No bells.

“I doubt that Novak Plastics means anything to you, but they probably made your fucking water bottle,” Raphael said. “The point is, the official name of our program is the James Novak Foundation for Unique Young Artists.” 

It took a moment to sink in and knock the breath from my lungs.

“I don't know how we neglected to warn you to tread lightly with Castiel,” Gabe said. “His feelings get hurt, his mom freaks out. Our sweet little setup goes poof. And to be honest, we’re pretty cozy, princess.” 

“So, what are you saying? That I have to go out with him again?” 

As if I didn’t already want to throw up every time I looked in the mirror.

“No.” He patted my knee. "I’m saying you never should have. But now that you have, yes.”

Raphael nodded. “Until he gets sick of you and then... community service complete.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I know.” Gabe nodded. “And he's very attractive. But that didn't stop you the first time; it shouldn't be a problem now.”

He leaned his shoulder against mine like we were suddenly pals again. “Don't worry. He goes through ‘em like donuts. Two weeks, tops.”

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye smudging eyeliner on my finger. At least I would look like the freak show I was. “He’s going to want me to have sex with him. You realize you’re pimping me out?” 

I searched Raphael’s face for support. 

“And you’re on board with this?”

“Neither of us likes it, Sam,” he said. “But it’s how it has to be. For everyone’s sake.”


	33. Chapter 33

Eddie Vane had no interest the fine line between assistant and slave. The guy never offered me a penny, but he expected me to do dishes, laundry, and grocery shopping. I drew the line at cleaning his bathroom. When I said so, Eddie responded that I could scrub his toilet, or get lost and not come back, verbatim. 

My head reeled on the long walk back to the subway. I dialed my phone on auto-pilot.

“Hey,” Dean answered on the third ring. “Thought we were talking at 4. Don’t you got your thing with the comic guy?”

I stopped in the middle of the hectic sidewalk to bask in the tone and cadence of his voice.

“Everything okay, babe, ‘cause I’m in the garage and we’re not supposed to take calls in here.”

“No, I’m… yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking about you.”

“Thinking about you, too,” he said. “All the time. Talk at 4, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I kissed the phone and held it to my mouth long after he’d hung up.

 

***

 

I reached for my wallet at the same time Castiel reached for his.

He was always paying for me and giving me things. I couldn’t let him think that’s what I was after; the situation was already gross enough. “Let me, at least—” 

“Next time.”

“You said that last time.”

He laughed. “You look ravishing.” 

“Thank you.”

“Like, I’ve been wanting to put you on my plate and...”

I covered my face, warming despite my best intention to keep this professional. My mission: date Castiel for the greater good until he stopped liking me and moved on to another target.

He slurped up the last of his mango lassi and wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin. “They’re making you go out with me.” 

I considered lying and opted not to respond. 

“You don’t have to, you know?” Castiel stirred the ice in his otherwise empty glass. “I’m not going to run tell my mommy somebody hurt my feelings. I know that’s what they think. But if you don’t want to be here...” 

“It’s not that.” 

“I get it,” he said. “The Cowboy?” 

I searched the colored lights and lanterns for a way to explain. “He’s —”

“I don’t care. I know he’s ‘the one’ or something. I get that. But I think you like me. At least a little.” 

“A lot, Cas.” It was strange but true. “I like you, it’s just…”

“Well, I know how I feel about you.” Castiel toyed with the melted wax in the candle. “But I don’t need to own you. Just, when you’re with me, be with me. That’s all I ask.” 

 

***

 

I held  the fabric together while Raphael pinned. “Sam?” 

“Hm?” 

He poked me with the next one he pulled from the cushion. 

“Ow."

“You didn’t hear me, did you?” 

“No. Sorry.” 

“What planet are you on, Gritslarn?” 

” I started with the least of my problems. “Ruby still won't talk to me.

“I, personally, never found conversation with Ruby to be particularly rewarding.” 

“She's not that bad.” Ruby was difficult, but she was honest. And she looked through me every time we were in the same room. “She blames me for Balthazar.” 

“Well, she doesn't know everything, does she?”

I performed my job in silence for a while before asking, “Raff, how are people chosen for this program?” 

“The mission statement is to serve exceptional youth.”

When he no longer needed my hands, I sat on the floor, scraping a pin beneath my thumbnail. “Castiel's mother ...” 

“Our experiment here began about a decade ago, because our charming little Castiel, did not excel in the typical school setting. He had a habit of coming onto faculty, as well as his fellow students. Got himself into a lot of trouble.

So, Carmen and I created an environment where her special boy could thrive as he is. And because he has, she’ll continue funding even after he leaves.” 

“You know her?”

“I design her evening wear.” 

I watched him hand sew buttons onto the stunning, simple golden jacket. Perhaps it was for her; I didn’t ask. 

“Did you kick Balthazar out because of...What happened?” 

We hadn’t spoken about it. No one had asked the details, and I hadn’t volunteered. The press of the pin between my nail and skin set my nerve endings on fire.  

“No one kicked Balthazar out. He left by choice.” 

“Because of me?” 

I held my breath and pushed it further, just to see how much I could take.

“Because he doesn't fit here anymore.” Raphael confiscated the pin and stuck it back in the cushion. 

“Do you think I'm a bad person?” 

“No,” he answered with his eyes on his work. “But it doesn't matter what I think.” 

 

***

 

Castiel’s nails scraped trails of fire down my chest while he devoured my cock. He loved to suck. He must have loved it. Every time he got me alone, the first thing he did was go to his knees. 

He never complained that I wouldn’t reciprocate. He didn’t complain, at all, ever. All he ever did was blow me, and give me gifts, and bring me food, and make me feel like shit. 

Surprise, surprise: Castiel was on his knees when my phone rang. I hadn’t forgotten about Dean and my talk date, I’d just been sidetracked by Castiel's mouth on me. 

“It’s Dean,” I said. “I have to take it.” 

Castiel pulled off long enough to say, “Go ahead,” and dived back down. 

“Fuck.” I swooned. “I can’t...” 

He held my cock. “You want me to stop?” 

It was the last thing I wanted. “Just give me a second.” I turned my back to him and pressed the call button. “Hey.” 

“Heya, Sammy.” The smile was audible on Dean’s voice. “What you up to, little girl?” 

“Nothing.” 

Castiel reached for my cock and I swatted his hand. 

“Just hanging out with Castiel.” 

Cas grinned, stroking himself. " Tell him I said hi.  No. Tell him I'm keeping you warm for him.” 

I mouthed, ‘shut up.’

“That that kid with the pipe?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“He remembers me?” Castiel giggled. “Oh, my god. Can you imagine if you two spit-roasted me?” 

Dean asked.  “What did he say?”

“Nothing. He's an idiot.” I sat on Castiel’s bed and folded my legs. 

“Bobby’s letting me take a couple of days,” Dean said. “I was thinking about coming out there for your birthday, if that's okay with you?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“Good.” Dean was silent for a moment. “You working on something? Sound a little... distracted. I don’t want to...” 

“No. It’s a good time.” 

Castiel stood at the edge of the bed, commandeered my ankles and rubbed himself off between my soles until the conversation ended.


	34. Chapter 34

I rolled my eyes at the mirror. Cas didn’t require that bullshit of me. Then again, Cas liked eating ass. Like, a lot. It was his new favorite thing, and I couldn’t exactly complain about it.

With one hand tucked behind my head, I shaved another straight line through my creamed armpit. When I was finished there, I leaned close to examine my jaw. Thus far, bleaching was sufficient. I hadn’t put a razor to my face. Once I started that shit, there was no going back. 

Hopefully, Dean wouldn’t feel any fuzz when we kissed. 

For the first time, I groaned at my mile-long legs. Dean loved them, but shaving these fuckers was a drag. I hadn’t done it in months and it was a gnarly task.

 

***

 

I stood at the top of the Empire State Building holding hands with the handsomest boy in the world. As the wind whipped around us, Dean held my hair out of my face and kissed me. 

I closed my eyes and tucked my chin to my chest, going through the girly motions, when what I wanted was push to him against a wall and hump him. What if I were to suck on his tongue, jerk him off until he came all over my hand, and then fucking eat it while he watched? 

Until then, I’d always felt vulnerable and demure around Dean. There was no telling what was different, and no psyching myself into being a girl. All I could do was act like something I wasn’t. 

Back on the ground, a cab sped by, blaring its horn. Dean, fearless in the face of bobcats, shrank back and squeezed my hand. He chuckled at his reaction and I smiled an apology on behalf of my noisy, unpredictable city. 

“How about we…” He glanced around. “Isn’t there a park around here somewhere?” 

“We should jump back on the subway.”

Dean shook his head. “I really hate the subway, Sam.”

“I know, but it’s the quickest way.” 

“The smells, and the people... too close. And...” He shuddered like he was telling war stories. 

“We could cut over to 1st and walk up. It’s a little quieter. Unless you want to just go to Bryant Park.” 

A siren in the distance changed pitch as it grew louder. Dean’s face contorted, shoulders hunched, a turtle with no shell.

“Let’s go to Central,” I took his arm. “I think you’ll like it.”

Dean grimaced as the ambulance passed. “Your town.” 

***

My town, but my first time in a canoe on the Jackie O Reservoir. Dean insisted on rowing and I didn’t argue. I crossed my ankles beneath the bench and let him steer us toward a nice shady spot with a glorious view of the skyline beyond the trees. He sang Johnny Cash the whole way and pulled in the oars beneath some low hanging willow branches. 

I pretended not to notice him looking at me. I pretended to be the girl he met a year ago. Pretended not to be an awful cheat, like my mother. No matter what I did, I was always lying to Dean. 

He cleared his throat and drew a small velvet box from his interior jacket pocket. 

“I was gonna wait until dinner...” 

My heart thundered in my chest. “What is that?”

“What does it look like, goofy? Ol’ Laurel’s ring.” His smile shifted. “I can get a new one, if you want.” 

My stomach revolted against the Shake Shack burger and threatened to dump it over the side of the boat. 

“I’m not like my dad.”  Dean bowed his head. “My mom, and me, and my brother were his biggest mistakes. He always made sure we knew that. He should have waited for your mom, but I'm not like him. I can wait for you, Sam.” 

There was nowhere to run. No place to hide. My  pulse pounded in my ears. 

“I was thinking, you get done here with your apprenticeship, and you get your... you know, make your transition and then, we, uh... you know ... I don’t know. Sam Winchester sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?” 

I could dive into the water. I’d already stopped breathing. 

“Sam?”

“Uh.” 

“Not tomorrow,” Dean said. “I mean, they don't do the surgery until you're at least 18, right? So, we wait. It’s just two years. You could, you know, you could start with the HRT, if you... when you’re ready.” He rubbed his thumb over the velvet. “God, I hope they don't make you like your friend. From what I understand, it's the same chemicals as pregnant chicks, right? All that estrogen and progestrogin, or whatever it is.” 

His nearly accurate information about gender reassignment made my head spin. 

“When I was around ten,” he said. “Ol’ Laurel got knocked up again. Carried the kid nearly the whole nine months. And you thought she was a nightmare before? I can’t stand pregnant chicks.”

The whole train of thought ran right off the tracks. 

“Wait. What do you ... who's pregnant now?” 

I only had one friend, but I needed to hear her name.

“Abby. You didn’t know?”

I tried to close my mouth, but my jaw wouldn’t comply. She’d been plumper than usual, but I’d hardly seen her without that huge coat on. Like Ruby said, hardly spoken with her. My heart plummeted.

“I’m surprised she didn't tell you? Hm.”

“Abby? Abby Noonan is pregnant?”

“Well, not anymore,” Dean said. “She had the kid couple weeks ago. You two don’t talk much do you?” 

“Not really, no.” Not at all, since February and it had been months before that. 

“Maybe she's embarrassed that she was getting rid of it.”

“Wait,” I stuttered. “Getting rid of it, like, abortion?”

“Adoption." 

Abby hated being adopted. There was no way that was her idea. I’m surprised her parents didn't skewer her and the baby and post them in the front yard as a warning to all fornicators.

While I was trying to seize a breath, Dean took my hand. My ring finger was too big and his fumbling to make it fit gave me a reprieve.

“Wait. Dean.”

I couldn’t say yes to his proposal under those conditions. I definitely couldn’t say no. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I pointed across the lake and shouted, “What is that?”

When he looked over his shoulder, I stood and capsized the boat.


	35. Chapter 35

Dean cranked up the country music as if I’d specifically requested it. I didn’t bother subduing the groan; he couldn’t hear it over the pedal steel, anyway. 

My annoyance faded into laughter when he yodeled along at the top of his lungs. He grinned at me, slipped the car into fifth gear and rested his hand on my thigh. 

For a while, it was like being in a Taylor Swift video again: gorgeous boy, wicked car, way too fast on the open road.  As long as we were driving, we’d be better than fine. The only trouble was the destination.

 

***

 

Dean pulled in for gas and snacks outside Pittsburgh. It might have even been that same dumb station where my mom and I stopped on our first trip west.

I peeled the plastic down the Slim Jim and leaned against the door while Dean filled up his Baby. There was this male/female hose joke my dad used to tell and but I decided against sharing with the class. Instead, I said, “I never realized this thing was such a guzzler.” 

Dean patted the roof. "Don't you listen to her, Baby." 

"No, I mean... How much does it cost to drive out here?" 

He shrugged. “About a paycheck getting to you and back.” 

"Sheesh." 

The meat had barely touched my tongue when Dean’s eyes began a long, slow journey from my mouth to my flip-flops. 

My face flushed and I lowered my eyes. 

“When am I ever going to see you in a dress again?” 

My grin melted as I tugged on the tattered hem of my jean shorts. “I don't know because I don't own one.” 

“Well, we need to fix that.” 

 

*** 

 

Faux snakeskin and bones: That’s what I was, with no tits or hips to justify a tube dress. But I’d promised to model. 

Dean hooted when I exited the fitting room. The clerk frowned and he switched it to two-fingered whistling.

“Hell, yeah.”

He clapped and then knelt at my feet, slipping them into red pumps as if Cinderella would be caught dead in this Pretty Woman get-up. 

Once the heels were on, Dean helped me take a few giggling, staggering steps. I’d squeezed into a pair of Gabe’s stilettos for Halloween and fallen on my face at the club. Since then, I’d been less eager to wear them.

Still, I stood there, letting Dean admire like I was on display in the Louvre. 

“I’m going to break my neck.” 

“But you look ... God, I want to marry you right now.” 

I laughed, but Dean wasn’t even smiling. “In this?” 

“Fuck, yeah.” 

“My mom would not go for that.” 

She probably wanted me married in a four-piece tux with a bowtie and cummerbund. 

“She can only keep me back a couple more years.” Dean put his hands on my waist, swaying while he hummed the Bridal March. 

“I don’t... I'm not sure I want to get married.”

The music stopped. Dean stilled, eyes narrowing like it was high noon.

“I don’t really think it's necessary. Or healthy.”

“Healthy?”

“You know, to pretend we own each other," I said. "I hate that concept.” 

He stepped back, scratching his jaw. “You say the craziest shit sometimes.” 

An apology bubbled in my throat, but I choked it back. I’d reached that conclusion years ago after a long (and secret) conversation with my dad. 

Marriage is archaic, barbaric, misogynistic and overdue for abolishment. 

My hand brushed Dean’s arm as he walked away, mumbling, “I’m buying this dress, anyway.”

I’d been shopping with Castiel enough to learn that when there's no price tag on the clothing people like him don’t care what it costs, and people like Dean and me don’t want to know.

Dean’s face, when the clerk answered, was a cross between comical and horrific.

***

 

Dean sulked as he paid the cashier, even though i tems at the thrift store were within in his price range. The dresses were also more to my liking, and there were no repeats on the rack. Every piece was unique, like me. 

We  carried the huge bag of clothes into the nearest laundromat and threw the whole load in the wash. I treated Dean to an ice cream cone, because it’s what I could afford. He frowned after a lick of my raspberry sherbert and tried to force me to eat Rocky Road. 

While the dresses spun dry, we played pinball. We were tied the last round and that sore loser bumped my hip as I set up an advanced bounce pass. When that didn’t foil me, he stationed himself behind me with his arms around my waist, blowing into my ear, cooing. “Don’t mind me.” 

I stood upright.  “You are a cheater.”

I wished I could chew off my tongue.

“Not cheating. Just saying hello.” 

I won anyway, and Dean pouted around the laundromat until I stepped from the bathroom in a sleeveless, knee-length gingham dress with a flared skirt and ruffled collar. 

“Oh, my God. You’re so cute.”

I bit my lip and spun for him. Dean lifted me onto the washer machine.  I  latched onto his neck, sucking for all I was worth. 

“Holy Hell.” 

I smiled against his skin. 

Dean fumbled in his pocket, then, behind my back and the machine sprang to life, vibrating beneath my ass. 

“Whoa!” I popped up like it was a hot griddle. 

He chuckled, sliding both hands up my thighs. The satin panties weren't near enough cushion between my nuts and the throbbing. 

There was a moment’s peace while the water ran. I locked my ankles behind Dean's back mashing our erections between us. He tried to back away, but I wouldn’t let him.

“You can do anything you want to me, Dean. Anything. Please.” 

“When you're ready, baby.” 

“I’m ready.” 

I could have said that he wouldn’t be my first, but he would be the first that mattered. Abby and Castiel canceled each other out. For all practical purposes, I was the little virgin he wanted. 

“When you're... you know.”

“Dean.” 

“I'll wait, Sam.” He smoothed back my hair. "I swear. Won't touch another soul. I... I need that. I need you to be all woman for me. I understand... I mean, I don't understand, but I know you're in the wrong body. So, we will get you right and then... everything'll be perfect.” 

“Dean,” I whimpered. 

“We will, baby.” He nuzzled my face. “I promise you. We're going to fuck like a pair of filthy rabbits. Don't even have to worry about you getting knocked up, do we?” 

I  gripped his shirt. “Why do we have to wait? I don't want to wait.” 

“I want to. Okay?” Dean backed away, adjusting his pants. 

A stiff dick in jeans sucks. That I knew firsthand, but a little torture was good for him, because I  was  suffering, too. 

God only knows why Dean thought it would feel good sitting on a washer. It’s way too much agitation. But I wanted the hurt he gave me, so I sat there, gripping the edges, letting the machine batter and bruise. 

Likely, it was something he did with Real Girls. Maybe, they love it. Maybe it would feel amazing on a clit. I didn’t have a fucking clit, and Dean knew that.

He pulled the dresses from the dryer, folding them one by one. 

“Who have you been talking to?” Tears welled in the corners of my eyes although I couldn’t say whether from pain or frustration. 

“God, nobody.” Dean shook his head. “Nobody we know. I've been going to this meeting every couple of weeks, over in Kansas City.” 

“Seriously? For me?”

“No,” Dean said. “For me. You already know who you are and it's ... how honest can I be here?” 

“Completely." I clenched my teeth as the washer kicked into the spin cycle. "We both have to be.” 

“Honestly, Sam? It still freaks me out, and sometimes I wish it wasn't you. But it is.” He tossed another shoddily folded dress onto the pile. “I decided I didn’t want to be a small-minded idiot who lost the love of my life just because things weren’t typical. Especially since that’s what I love most about you.”

Love of his life. I toyed with my thumbnail and choose not to gush.

“I'm not going to find this somewhere else,” Dean said. “But for it to be right, you need to be... We need to wait. You understand that, right? You understand that I'm not queer.” 

“What if... doing that changes me?” I hopped down, legs buzzing, balls screaming in protest. 

“It won't. It connects those final pieces. That’s what they all say.” 

Dean held out his arm, and I bent over to tuck myself under it. 

“I met this woman, Candace,” he said. “You would never know. Some of them are obvious. Like they need to get the chin done and don't. But you're nearly perfect.” 

I wrapped my arms around him, burrowing my face in his chest. 

“Maybe, I mean, if you want to get tits--”

My muscles tensed.

“Just a little. I don't miss ‘em. Just for inquiring minds.” 

I chewed my lip and willed myself not to cry. Why cry? What reason did I have to cry? 

“Only if you want, baby, and not now," Dean said. “Eventually, you know." 

“I’m still growing.”

“Yeah. I know that.” 

“I could look like anything when I'm done.” I silently apologized for looming over him. 

Dean smiled and wiped my tear. “You will be flawless, little girl. Just like you already are.”

 

***

 

As we pulled onto the Ohio State campus, Dean explained his obligation to stop there for the night. 

“Couldn’t do it on the way out or I would have missed your birthday.” He pulled into a parking spot. “Didn’t know you’d be with me on the way back.”

I hadn’t argued or complained out loud, only remained perfectly silent and tense in my seat since he announced the minor detour. 

“In and out, Sam. I swear.” 

However, Stephen’s frat had organized a party in Dean’s honor. I watched from the corner with my arms folded while Stephen limped toward a keg, inviting Dean to demonstrate t he full extent of his stupidity.

A gaggle of girls in mini-skirts ogled while he stood on his head guzzling from a keg as if that enhanced his attractiveness instead of making him look like the rest the Cro-Magnons blockheads. 

One of the fuckbunnies sidled up alongside the idiot as he landed, hooting like he’d scored a touchdown. She whispered something to Dean, and he pointed at me. Then he and Stephen brayed like the asses they were. 

The girl switched her hips across the room to me. "He says his mouth belongs to you." 

"What?" 

“I have to ask your permission before I can kiss him.” 

Dean leaned on Stephen’s shoulder and waggled his fingers. 

“I don’t...” I shook my head and abandoned the madhouse.

I spent the next few hours walking around the campus, which was beautiful in places. Finally, I ended under a tree, soaking in the darkness and quiet. Pointedly not wondering what was happening at that party.

By the time I returned to the frat house, the noise and mayhem had died down. Dean lay amid the carnage, face down with his arm hanging from a sofa, like a deflated balloon. 

“Guess you’re not leaving tonight,” Stephen sat with one leg draped over the arm of his plush chair, still nursing a beer. 

He looked like the king of Hell overseeing other partygoers, strewn like corpses among the pizza boxes, beer bottles, and red Solo cups.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to him,” Stephen sneered. “But he used to hold his liquor better than this.” 

“I didn’t do anything to him.”

“So, I never got to ask you, Sam. What are your intentions towards my boy?” 

I blinked at the question and the wreckage. “I don’t have any.” 

Stephen honked like a game show buzzer. “That’s not the right answer, East Coast. I know about the whole thing ...” 

I braced for it, chin rising toward the ceiling. Stephen’s scowl held for a second before dissolving into a drunken grin. “He’s fucking obsessed with you, and your mom, and his dad.”

It’s not what I expected him to say, but the argument sounded like Psych 101. Stephen was beautiful and cruel, but he was no dummy.

“It’s the only fucking reason he’s with you. He thinks if he can conquer you, he’ll have conquered John and vindicated his mom. That’s why you two will ultimately fail.” 

“Thank you, Stephen, for the love advice.” 

“Nobody said Love. I didn’t say he loved you, bitch" Stephen hurled his can at me, but missed. “He’s not that stupid. But I’m sure he likes getting those legs wrapped around him. Why don’t you come over here and—” 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Dean heaved himself upright with a groan and wiped the spittle from the corner of his lip. “Don’t you fucking talk to her like that.” 

“Dean. Dude...” 

“You don’t...” Dean stood, staggering wildly and pointed a finger in his best friend's face. 

On his way to storm Stephen’s throne, h e stumbled backward into my arms. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, baby.” 

“Dean, you can’t drive like this,” I whispered. 

He fumbled in his pocket and dropped the keys in my hands. 

“Winchester, don’t be an ass.” 

Dean gave Stephen the finger and leaned on my shoulder all the way to the car. 

“Dean, he was drunk,” I said. “He didn’t --” 

“No. Nobody fucking looks at you funny.” 

I helped him into the passenger seat and ran around to the driver’s side. “You know I don’t have my license, right?” 

“I trust you.” His head lolled back. “Just be gentle with her.”

Translation: if I crashed his car our relationship would come to another abrupt end. I drove 20 MPH for ten minutes until he yelled, “Sam, stop!”

I checked my mirrors and steered the car onto the side of the road. Dean opened the door and emptied his guts into a ditch. 

It turned out that the plan for the evening was to sleep at Ohio State. Neither of us had money for a hotel, so Dean changed the plan to sleeping in the car. 

He grinned as he suggested it and flicked his eyes at the back seat. He eased toward me, reeking of vomit and sin. I held him back with my hands and turned my face away. 

“Tease.”

The closest I’d come to sleeping in a car on a two-lane highway surrounded by woods was our camping trip. Perhaps that’s why my mind wouldn’t settle down - the moonless depth of the night, the clicks and screeches provided a perfect environment for the seething of dark thoughts.

“Dean, what happened to your mother?”

It seemed disrespectful to call her Ol’ Laurel, like he always did. 

He only replied with a moan, at first. Then he mumbled, “Told you. Killed herself… Stephen is an asshole.”

Indisputable, but it didn’t make him wrong. 

“And he’s wrong,” Dean said. “I love you, plain and simple. Johnny-boy’s mistakes are on him.”

We sat in relative silence for a while. The animals were increasing their volume and my agitation. 

“Did he beat her? Your mother? Did your father beat your mother?”

Dean rolled over in his chair to face me, his words no longer slurred. “He beat all of us, Sam. At various times for various crimes.”

“So, you think you deserved it?”

“If you take a beating, you deserve it. He’d still be beating me if I let him.”

“Is that why she—“

“Did John make my mother self-destruct? No. She was a coward who ran away the only way she could. We done?”

He crossed his arms and rolled back over. 

 

***

 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. His eyes were puffy slits, his breathing ragged, and he’d have to be at work in a few hours. 

I braced myself to confront John Winchester, but when I opened the front door to Campbell’s house, my mother was shouting like a Banshee. 

“I know you took it. You make me so fucking sick, Johny!” 

I’d glimpsed this version of her at the gas station when she attacked that trucker. She was usually dignified and well-mannered, but something about Oskaloosa or John Winchester unhinged her.

She banged both hands on the bathroom door, kicked it, then turned and froze when she saw me.

“Sam?”

“I’m going to get some sleep.” Dean kissed my cheek, slipped into my bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“Why are you not in New York, honey?” Mom had returned to her former calm, sensible persona. “Is everything all right?” 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

She reached up and ran her hand down my cheek. “Tell you what, sweetie?”

“About Abby’s baby.” 

“Oh, I didn’t think…”

Her eyes popped wide enough to see the precise moment the lightbulb clicked on in her head.


	36. Chapter 36

Jody Mills brought me and my mother steaming cups of herbal tea, even though it was unseasonably close to 90 degrees outside. The Mills’ home was air-conditioned and bright with natural light. Not super-modern in decor, but clean and orderly. The electrical sockets were already baby-proofed.

“Unlike my husband,” she said. “I don’t believe everything has to become a legal matter.” 

Her husband’s face and spine remained stony. 

“Mrs. Mills," my mother sniffed the rim of her mug. ”My son just turned 16 this month. He has a prestigious arts apprenticeship in New York City and absolutely no interest in taking your baby.” 

The Mills clasped hands. 

“Sam’s father and I raised him to be responsible for his actions. And even though he and Ms. Noonan only dated very briefly, I believe what’s driving this ... obsession is a desire to be sure that the baby is in a safe, loving environment.” 

While Mrs. Mills nodded, her husband scrutinized me. I’d grown out of the funeral suit, so one of Dean’s white button downs and a tie displayed an inkling of my seriousness. 

I put down the tea and rubbed my hands on my jeans. “Can I, possibly, speak for myself?” 

Adult eyes turned on me as if I’d descended from another planet.

“I’d like to see her,” I said, then added, “Please.” 

Mrs. Mills covered her mouth with both hands. Her husband squeezed her knee and sat forward in his chair, speaking for the first time. “Jody told you, she’s having a nap.” 

“I understand that, sir. I don’t want to wake her up. Just...”

Mrs. Mills stood.

“Jody, you don’t have to--”

She waved a hand at him and nodded, leading the way up carpeted stairs. "So, you're an artist?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"That's nice. And you live in New York?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

An Elephant, a Violin, and an Alligator frolicked on the nursery door nursery. 

“Oh, look who's awake.” Mrs. Mills lifted the tiny creature from her crib and drew the squiggling, mewling thing to her chest. “Eva, this young man is Sam.” 

“She can’t understand you, right?” 

“I’ve heard people say infants are the most intelligent life on earth.” Mrs. Mills smiled and kissed Eva’s nearly bald head. “But, no.” 

I chuckled, and a new warmth welled in my chest. “Can I hold her?” 

Mrs. Mill’s sub-conscious rocking came to a halt along with her breath. “Have you ever held a baby, Sam?” 

“Is it hard?” 

She hesitated for a moment, then gestured,  “Why don’t you sit?” 

I chose the gliding chair and held out my arms. 

“Just... make sure you support her head.” Mrs. Mills gave me the little bundle in slow motion. 

I’d always assumed that babies would stink of poop, but my daughter smelled like perfection. I pressed my nose to the soft crown of her head and t he corner of my mouth quirked up. “Do you think I could have a minute, like alone with her?” 

Mrs. Mills eyes narrowed. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” It was a time to flash the winning smile: dimples, the works. “You have my mom as collateral.” 

Mrs. Mills snicker was more sorrow than humor, but she nodded and left the room, conveniently, neglecting to close the door. 

There was this tiny, fragile person in my arms. This person I had helped to make, entirely by accident, but what did that matter? A whole person, made of me and Abby, who could grow up to be anything she wanted.

“Hey, Eva. Your mom would really hate that name, but I kind of like it. Eva, Evie. You got to believe I didn’t know. Ab... your mom. I don’t know, she didn’t trust me. I think I let her down. She... I don’t know where she is, but I will find her, okay? I can’t promise you that she and I will be together, but, I will be here for you, regardless. I will always be here.” 

Mrs. Mills returned too soon. When she reached for Eva, panic surged. The baby’s safety was the only thing that stopped me from diving from the window with her.

“Sam?”

I bit my lip and passed my child back to the stranger who had purchased her. 

By the time we were all back downstairs, my mother and Mr. Mills had moved their conversation to the dining room table. Mrs. Mills stood behind her husband, which I figured meant I should to take my mother’s side.

The man sat back in his chair and nodded up to his wife, tickling Eva’s toes. 

My mother pushed a piece of paper under my nose when all I wanted was to hold my daughter again. 

“Sean and I have agreed on some points here,” Mom said. “I think they’re very generous.” 

“If you sign that today, I could have them submitted to the court tomorrow morning,” Mr. Mills offered, the paragon of chivalry. 

The basic outline was that the Mill's would send me photos once a year on Eva’s birthday and reveal my identity when she turned 18. 

“What?” I threw the paper on the table. “That means I’ll never see her.” 

The Mills looked at each other; the woman bounced on the balls of her feet as Eva started to fuss. “She’s getting hungry,” she said. “I’ll leave you all to it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Mary.” 

She disappeared from the room with my daughter. 

“I have to see her.” 

My mom’s hand was cold my arm. I shook her off, but sat back in my chair, rolling my lips together, trying to feel less like I was on a malfunctioning Tilt-o-Whirl. 

“I’d have to run it by Jody.” Mr. Mills shifted in his seat. “But we could... add a bullet that gives you permission to attend birthday parties, if you happen to be in town.”

“What is with you people and birthdays? That’s one day.” I was shouting, and it wasn’t cool, but I couldn’t stop. “And it’s usually all about some bullshit cake and a bunch of screaming kids running around. It’s not her real life. I want to be part of her real life.” 

Sean Mills inhaled loudly.

“Not as her father,” my mother said. “Just... a family friend. Someone who might stop by... after giving a week’s notice... And not more often than twice a year. Right, Sam?” 

Was there ever a case where someone becomes their adopted kid’s babysitter? That was more like what I was thinking.

My face was on fire, and if I’d said another word, I’d be crying in front of this child thief. So I nodded and watched my mother write it in the margins.

“I have to talk to Jody.” Mr. Mills took the paper from the room. 

I leaned my face on her shoulder and whispered, “Mom, I want her.” 

“Hush.” She squeezed my thigh, digging in her fingernails. “We talked about this before we came over here. Before you even took the test.” 

“I know, but I want her. I want to take care of her.” 

“You don't understand what you’re talking about.”

“I know, but --”

“You’ve never even seen a diaper, Sam. You have no money. You are a child yourself.” 

“Had you ever changed a diaper before me?” 

Her claws in my leg were a mere physical pain. My heart had cramped and threatened to stop beating.

“Did you see her eyes? She has my eyes, Mom. I’ll get a job. You can help me until I know what I’m doing.” 

"What about the apprenticeship?"

"Fuck it." 

“Sammy. “ Her hand softened and soothed their wounds. “I can’t take care of Eva for you. She’s in the best place. These people love her. The fact that they’re fighting for her is a great sign.” 

We sat up straight when Sean Mills returned. “Two weeks notice before a visit. Once a year.” 

“You can’t just magically have a family vacation pop up,” I said. 

Under the table, my mother ripped another chunk out of my leg and said, “Two weeks is perfectly reasonable to establish a mutually agreeable time.” 

Mr. Mills looked ready to tear my head from my neck, but he scribbled the change and shoved the paper at me again. 

At the bottom, they’d added a cursive-written clause stating that I was under no obligation to maintain contact with Eva. I could disappear from her life anytime, no harm, no foul. It also said by signing the agreement, I relinquished all parental rights. 

I looked at my mother. “I can’t sign this.” 

She translated, “He needs time to think about it. Sam’s father and I have always encouraged him to think before signing new documents. But it looks good. It looks really... It’s wonderful. Thank you.” 

Mom stood, shook Mr. Mills’ hand and ushered me out of the door. I searched over my shoulder, straining for one last glimpse of Eva before the front door closed behind us. 

“Mom. Why are you being like this? I have every right. If you would just help me.”

“I can not help you, Sam," my mother spoke like she was scolding a toddler. "I’m pregnant.”


	37. Chapter 37

Bus 354 to Pittsburgh was set to depart in five minutes. Dean held me close, kissed my cheek. “You good?”

I nodded, but it was an obtuse question. How could I possibly be good?

“So, we can put this behind us?”

I stepped away from him, searching his oblivious eyes. “My kid? Put my kid behind us?”

“Sammy.”

It was useless trying to explain anything to that halfwit. I pulled my bag over my shoulder and boarded the bus, flashing the printout pass.

Dean tried to board without a ticket and the driver stood to block his way.

“I’m not a passenger,” he said. “I need to talk to that girl right there.”

“I’m not a girl, okay?”

I was in a dress with a low ponytail curled over my shoulder, but I didn’t feel any more feminine than Dean appeared to. Needless to say, we garnered more than our share of attention.

“I’m Eva's father,” I said. “And I'm not going to just get over that. You put it behind you.”

Dean looked around at our audience and backed off the bus.

I didn’t turn to wave or see whether he was still there when the bus left the station.

The ring scraped cool against my forehead as I wiped away the sweat. Dean never once blamed me that his mother’s band was at the bottom of the reservoir. He’d just blown his next paycheck on a new (wider) one, without even asking.

If I ever married anyone, it wouldn’t be that ass. I peeled it off and stood to lower the window.

The little old lady with the aisle seat patted my leg. “I wouldn’t do that just yet, sweetheart.”

“Just give yourself time to cool off,” she said.

Her bare fingers were the only reason I listened.

“If you still want to do it in a week, bash it flat with a hammer and mail it back to him. He’ll get that message like a foghorn.”

I sat. The lady introduced herself as Mildred and asked to see the ring.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” she said

Dean had unceremoniously screwed the thing onto my pinky. It was the first time I’d seen the engraving: ‘You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess’

Taylor Swift lyrics.

I wanted to throw up, or throw myself under the front tires of the bus. I dropped the ring into my backpack in hopes it would magically disappear, along with the infuriating fool who’d given it to me.

 

***

 

He warned me, but it was still a surprise to find Castiel’s room vacant and the walls painted white. That goof couldn’t stop texting about his awesome new place in Hoboken, close to his job, and ‘an incomparable pizza parlor.’

I traced my hand over a small dent we’d made in the wall, wrestling like little kids.

It was just as well he was gone. I didn’t have the mental stamina to deal with Castiel. I flopped face-first onto my bed, planning to text him when I woke up. Just to say hi.

He never gave me the chance. When I rolled over and yawned a few hours later a CONGRATULATIONS! balloon floated over a dozen pink roses. Little white booties dangled from the neck of the vase. And a dark-haired creeper stood at the foot of my bed, doing a damn convincing Edward Cullen impression.

“Jesus!” I clutched my chest.

Castiel laughed. “Sorry. So how are you feeling?”

“Weird?”

He sat and laid a hand on my leg. “You know, technically, it’s possible, that I am, also, a father.”

He stretched himself out, head on my pillow as he kicked his shiny shoes onto the floor.

“I seriously want to talk about anything else.” I lay down beside him, draping an arm over his warm belly.

Castiel kissed my forehead and launched into exactly the kind of mindless diatribe about his job that I needed to fall back asleep and not dream about Dean drowning my kid in a baby pool.

I awoke with Castiel behind me, a little-big spoon. When I tried to ease out of his arms, his grip tightened. “You want to tell me about her?”

I rolled over. “She’s beautiful.”

“Did you take pictures?”

It hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“What kind of father doesn’t take pictures?”

I tensed and Castiel drew in his lips, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. What should I be saying?”

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

I closed my eyes, too, and soaked in his easy comfort.

Gabriel insisted he stay for dinner, but  Cas snuck away, explaining that he had a date. As he approached the door, I called out, “Wrap it up, Romeo.”

Castiel winked over his shoulder, pulled on that infernal trench coat and left Raphael and Gabriel gawking like they’d never seen friends.

 

**_***_ **

 

On the third knock, Ruby shouted, “What, Sam? God!”

“Can I come in?”

“No. Go screw yourself.”

Great. Hermaphrodite humor.

I walked away, and the door opened.

I entered cautiously and stood in the middle of the floor while Ruby went back to playing with her DS. She finally asked, “What do you want?”

“Are we friends?"

“Define."

"If I needed to ask you a gigantic favor..."

"Does it cost money or involve clowns?"

I winced. "No, and God, no, but it's a pretty big deal."

"You said."

Nothing for it but to dive in. "Could I see you? Like all of you."

Ruby played for a few more seconds before she set the unit aside.

“Why?”

“I’m thinking of...”

“Remodeling?”

I nodded. “Just thinking about it.”

Nonstop ever since Dean mentioned it. Those thoughts mingled with thoughts of Eva and dreams of her calling me Mama.

Ruby looked at me for a full minute before she said, “Fine.”

That was too easy, and I didn’t trust it.

“You answer me one question, honestly, and I'll be your guinea pig.” Ruby took a deep breath. “Why would you do it? Balthazar. When you knew how much trouble you could get him in.”

“I didn’t...

She leaped from the bed and grabbed a fistful of my hair, exposing my neck. “Don’t lie, Sam. Don’t you fucking dare.”

My muscles clenched. It would be so easy to dislodge Ruby’s hold and pin her. Hurt her, if I’d wanted to. But I stayed in her clutches, relinquishing the upper hand. But I did try to defend myself. “I didn’t... He—”

“No. Just no." Her grip tightened. "He wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that.”

I kept quiet. I could give up control, but I wouldn't lie.

“I hate your dress.” Ruby finally let me go with a shove. “Let me guess. Cowboy loves it.”

“He proposed.”

Ruby raised a single pierced brow. “So, he knows about you and all the boys in town? Yeah. I didn't think so. Didn't strike me as the sharin' kind. Well, it’d be a shame if he found out.”

“Would you do that?”

“I should.” Her nostrils flared.

“You knew about my baby,” I said. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“What baby?” She shook her head like I was crazy.

“Abby’s little girl.”

“What? No. She told me she was knocked up, not... Jesus, Sam. You got some hell of a body count. Didn’t even realize you did girls. What the hell do you need to see me for if you’re a fucking daddy?”

“I never saw Abby.”

“Then how is that baby --”

“She kind of always jumped on me.”

Ruby scoffed. “So, she overpowered you?”

“In a way.”

“So you don't like pussy?”

I scratched my neck. “I don’t know."

Ruby shimmied out of her black cargo pants and checkered boxers. “There it is. You like it?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

Liking it didn't mean I wanted one.

She lay back with her hands behind her head and spread her legs to reveal a mangled mass of black hair with pink lips barely peeking through. Ruby unfurled them with her fingers. "This is --"

“I know. My mom had a diagram.”

“Progressive,” Ruby said. “So, you know the whole beautiful thing is actually a---”

“Vulva. And the vagina’s the... baby hole.”

“Scientific.” Ruby rubbed a hand over her fur. “You want to touch or smell or something?”

“It's beautiful.”

Ruby leaned up. “It’s not. It’s a fucking mess.”

“No. It is.”

She gestured for my hand and melded my finger over the clitoris. “Just pressure. No flicking or anything. Some chicks like that. I don’t.”

I applied pressure with the tip of my pointer finger, trying different angles until Ruby’s mouth parted, her eyes closed and her head tilted back on the pillow.

“Is that good?”

“Obviously, nitwit.” Ruby nudged my chest with her foot.

Subconsciously, I’d palmed my crotch.

“Are you hard right now?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to fuck me?”

“I think so,” I whispered. “Yeah.”

"Well, I don't do dicks.” Ruby snapped her knees together. “Sorry. It's a principle thing.”

Before I thought wiser of it, I asked, “What would you have done with Balthazar? If he --”

“You little moron.” She sat upright, pulling a pillow over herself. “Balthazar is my best friend. Not all love is about fucking. God, I can't wait until you start your treatment. Maybe you won't be so stupid once you get rid of that thing.”

  



	38. Chapter 38

I sent drawings and went on interviews, but Raphael warned that I’d never break into the industry until I upped my social media game. I might be the only teenager on earth who didn’t live for tweets and likes. Maybe my dearth of real-life friends made me cringe at the idea of virtual ones.

Dean texted, I erased it. He called, I ignored.

I called the Mills once but hung up when Mr. Mills answered the phone. 

Gabe and Raff went away for a weekend and I marauded their bar but didn’t get past my first sip. The sharp burn and stink of drinking alone reminded me of John Winchester. I even tried to pray, but it was too much like talking to myself. If God existed, He wouldn’t let people be separated from their children.

My salvation came from an unlikely source. Raff sent me to pick up a prescription five minutes before the pharmacy closed. I ran like mad and for that five minutes, the rest of the world dissolved. 

Just like that, running became the start of my daily routine.

I entered the apartment and hung my key by the door. There were two pieces of mail in my slot: an envelope from Dean and a thick packet from Jody Mills. I ripped away the adhesive strip and found Jody had sent a small, pink scrapbook with a photo of Eva dressed as an angel. 

There was a typed copy of the agreement and a handwritten letter explaining that she’d send hard copies in 3x5. This was an early installment, in good faith, that I’d sign. The last item in the package was a self-addressed stamped envelope. 

I stuffed the one from Dean in my bottom drawer with letters from my father and dropped to the floor for some pushups. The more I challenged my body the less tension built up in my mind.

Raphael knocked and waited for permission to enter. He assumed his usual military stance by the door and asked, “How was your run?”

“Awesome."

“Good. These are for you.”

He gave me two business cards and no further explanation before he exited. One was for a wax studio, the other for a Simon Bartlett.

I scraped my fingers over the thickening peach fuzz on my neck. The time had come for a decision: beard, or Bic.

I lay in bed wishing for smooth, non-descript Barbie genitalia. Even better, hormones that could be switched on and off at will: Scarlett Johannsen’s rack one day, thick-ass Jason Momoa beard another. 

I was staring at the ceiling, arguing with nature when my phone buzzed. 

CAS: Come over?? 

I grinned and replied.

ME : Maybe tomorrow.

CAS: Really?!! I’ll clean up

ME: You’re always neat

How are your new roommates? 

CAS: Christian :) 

Castiel followed that up with a horned emoji that could mean a few different things. 

My  laugh morphed into a yawn. 

ME: Tired as hell

CAS: Buenas Noches, beautiful

ME: You, too

CAS: Dick pic?

ME: Goodnight, Castiel 

I  smiled, put down the phone and accidentally looked at the text from Dean because I thought it was a straggler from Cas.

DW: Come on, Sam. You can’t still hate me.

Yes, I still could. 

But I didn’t. I’d just accepted that we didn’t belong together.

 

***

 

I presented Castiel with a bottle of Gabe’s wine and smiled at the girls on the sofa: one raven-haired and a scary-looking redhead. Castiel gestured through introductions. "Hannah and Anna. Like tits, sisters not twins." 

That should be easy to remember since they looked nothing alike. 

The place was not what I expected. No chandelier, no butler. Just a regular, apartment with salvaged furniture and no art on the walls. His roommates were attractive, but not insanely beautiful: two regular girls on a ratty couch in a rent-controlled apartment with stains on the carpet. 

“Ladies, this is Sam.” He squeezed my bicep, which was becoming a thing.

Anna, the carrot top, never blinked while Hannah’s scowling eyes trailed the length of me as if I’d already offended her by existing. She reminded me instantly of Ruby.

“Wine, anyone?” Castiel held up the bottle like a trophy. 

Anna’s hand shot up. 

“I’ll have a little,” Hannah said, then repeated. “Only a little.” 

“What are you guys watching?” I settled on the sofa between them and thumbed through the DVD options on the table: Bridget Jones’ Diary and Space Balls. “I’m down with both.” 

Hannah rolled her eyes. “I already told Castiel, I can’t stand Renee Zellweger.” 

“Decided, then, I guess,” I said. “Let me see if he needs a hand.” 

I leaned on the doorframe, watching until Castiel grinned over his shoulder and asked, “How do you want to play this? Got a preference?” 

“I came to see you.”  I stepped behind him, hands on his hips, and pressed my crotch to his ass.

“But you like girls, right?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I was attracted to some girls and some guys. Those freaky sisters I wasn’t so sure about.

Castiel turned and swiped a finger over my upper lip. “Hey, you got your stache done. Smooth.” Then he went back to his work with the wine. “How about you pick one? I’ll take the other.”

I nibbled his ear. "You think they're going to go for that?" 

“They’re Christian's. Not nuns.” Castiel guzzled a Dixie cup of wine and handed me two cups. “And you’ve got this non-threatening, feminine vibe you give off even when you're a dude.” 

I wasn’t sure that was a compliment. 

“Don't fear it, man. Use it. Chicks everywhere will spread like butter for you.” He held my face between his hands. “Being with you is like getting hammered by a hot chick and a hot guy all at once.”

There had to be an insult in that statement. 

“It’s fucking amazing. You’re amazing. I love you, and they want you, like I knew they would.” 

I wasn’t ready for Castiel’s confession of love, especially not on the heels of him trying to convince me to sleep with one of his roommates.  He drank the wine from my cups and then refilled them. “Pick one, fuck her and then, let me taste her on you.” 

“That’s disgusting, Cas. And there’s no way I’m having sex with any girl without a condom ever again.”

“Fair enough. Guess I’ll still smell her.” He led the way back to his unsuspecting roomies. 

I sat with my arm slung over Castiel’s shoulder, plotting how to make him abandon this dumb idea and sleep with me. After a few cups of wine, Anna hooked her leg over mine. Even before the closing credits rolled, she took my hand and lead me to her bedroom. 

I sat on her bed watching her undress. No idea how old she was or how old she thought I was? She didn’t ask; I didn’t tell. 

She was the skinniest girl I’d ever seen naked, but that wasn't saying much, considering that Abby was pretty round and Ruby was curvy. But I counted ribs just to make the time pass. 

“You liked my sister better.”

“No.” I couldn’t exactly say it was a personal favor to Castiel. 

“You're strange.”

“So are you.”

“And your hair’s too long,” Anna said. “You look like a girl.”

“I can leave.” 

She dove onto my lap. 

Fine. So we were going to do this.

I clasped her ass in both hands, stood and dropped her on the bed. Then I dragged her by her ankles to the foot of the bed, dropped to my knees and hooked my arms around her thighs. 

Her landing strip of pubic hair was a brighter orange than on her head: pure pumpkin. I would have sworn her hair was dyed. It was nothing like Ruby’s thick black bush. Smelled different, too. Anna’s was tidier, but Ruby’s had personality. I smiled. It would amuse Ru to know I’ll always think of her whenever I’m up close with a woman. 

I applied pressure with my thumb, the way she showed me. Anna tasted like ham and fake flowers. Her skin was super soft and she made a lot of noise, which I took as a good sign. 

Her thighs tightened around my head, cutting off sound, light, and air. When I tried to escape, she squeezed more tightly, pinning me in place. Frantic, I tapped her stomach until she shuddered and let me go. 

Once I was sure I’d live, I pulled my pants down, wrapped up and slid in. Anna thrashed about, hollering like she was being slaughtered. I came in two minutes and left. 

I would have dived right into the shower if it weren’t for Castiel’s  r equest. 

His black boxer briefs contrasted with his pale skin same as his hair. I hovered at the door, drank in his toe-tapping, magazine-flipping, massive antique headphones wearing until Castiel smiled and reached out a hand. 

“Hey, before I forget, my mother’s got this event coming up. It’ll be less awful if you're there.” 

“What do you want me to wear?”

He shrugged. “We could get you a tux and a gown and decide the day of.”

“Deal.” 

I sat beside him and he hummed his appreciation of the fragrant kiss, as if I’d brought him breakfast in bed. He gripped the back of my head and swiped his tongue around my mouth. 

“The two of you taste like rain,” he said. "Fuck.” His shorts were already tented, magazine discarded. “Get on your hands and knees for me, Sam.” 

“No.” 

Castiel blinked like he'd never heard the word before. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile. 

"You'll like it. I'll make it so you like it. No pain. I swear.” 

I picked the magazine off the floor, but my mind wouldn’t even register the title. “You don’t think they’ll get pissed if they find out about us?” 

“I don’t give a shit. Wouldn't give you up for anything.” 

I studied the back cover rather than meet Castiel’s eyes. 

“Fucking you,” he clarified. “Your dick, Sam. I know that's all this is. You don't have to shut down on me.” 

“That's not--”

“It's cool.” Castiel crawled over and busied himself with the button on my pants. 

“Dean and I are done. We haven't talked in weeks. I can't talk to him.” I dug the heel of my hand into my eye socket. “He's an idiot. A fucking hick. I don't know why I ever thought that would be something.” 

“Because you love him.” Castiel pulled my shirt over my arms. 

“That means nothing.” 

“Are you trying to fool yourself or me? Because I don't mind your thing with Dean. I really don't care, Sam. All I care about is this." He grabbed a handful of my crotch. 

“That's not true.” 

As weird as it was when Castiel slipped the L word into the conversation, I didn’t want to be his fuck toy. He meant something to me, I just hadn’t figured out what.

“You didn't let me finish." He tapped his other hand over my heart. "Shit, you’re getting built aren’t you? Are you lifting now or something?”

“Not a lot.”

“Fuck.” He punched my pec. “That’s hot, Sam.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m not trying to compete with Dean,” Castiel said. “But if he hasn't fucked you yet, let me do it.” 

He dove on to my back and kicked off  an hour-long tickle battle. Never too proud to beg, Castiel coaxed me onto my hands and knees. I peered over my shoulder and said, “Nothing enters, got it?”

“Got it.”

His tongue flicked against my hole and my whole body lurched forward. It was always so intense. So good. 

I buried my face in a pillow to mute the obscene groans and filthy language pouring from my lips since I wasn’t able to stop it. Castiel sucked my balls one at a time, then he swallowed my cock. 

A finger tapped my hole, and I clenched. “No.” 

“Please tell me you’re not fucking saving yourself.” He wiped his face on the back of my thigh. “Because that is fairytale nonsense. You know that, right? You’re not a fucking girl and you’re not a fucking virgin.” 

“Just no, Castiel.” 

“Trust me, Sam. You'll like it.” 

The finger breached. I kicked back and tore into him. He didn’t see it coming and honestly, neither did I.

I didn’t let up until Castiel was on the floor shielding his bloody nose. I stood over him, fists still curled, breathing hard as I crushed the urge to stomp his trachea. An integral part of Campbell's training was when to override the adrenaline and not end the other guy, even if some assholes deserve it. 

“Sam.”

“No,” I said. “Fuck you. Stay down until I’m gone, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”   
  



	39. Chapter 39

Simon Bartlett, Raphael’s friend and my new agent, threw back  his head and inhaled sharply. He offered me his tiny spoon, and I declined with a small shake of my head. 

Without further fanfare, the paunchy man swept the paraphernalia into his top drawer. Then he continued sifting through a stack of photos.

“First thing we need to do is bulk up this portfolio. Raff said you'd like to make some easy money, so I’ll hook you up with some showroom work. How does that sound?” 

“Lovely, thank you.” I crossed my legs and clasped my hands around my knees to keep from fidgeting.

“You know I used to work with Andreja?”

He’d only said it four times by that point.

“For the record, how do you self-identify? He or she.” 

I opened my mouth and a tiny puff of air escaped. 

“Doesn’t matter. Always show up femme-neutral. Not dresses, but flowy blouses, tight pants. Sets you apart. But these...” Bartlett flexed his flabby arms. “Too much braun. Quit the pushups, or the pull-ups, or whatever. You’re going to male and female calls and you need to look like neither and both.” 

That I could do.

“That smile is a dazzler, Sam,” Bartlett said. “But never look happy. Honestly, no one wants it. Aloof, pissed, even confused, but you will never see a high-fashion model grinning. Just try to look like you hate everyone on earth.” 

It wasn’t such a stretch from reality. Dean was a stupid hillbilly and Cas was an entitled dick. 

“Raphael does have an eye. And with those legs, you could do runway, too, but you’ll have to lose 20 or 30 lbs. No one wants fucking muscle.”

I hadn’t bulked up that much, but I looked less like a twig, which was a welcome change. 

And if you’re thinking of transitioning, don’t. Andrej/Andreja. Seth/Siobhan. Maybe they’re happier. I don’t know. But you ask me, they had novelty before. Why would you want to be another pretty girl? How many creatures are there like you in the world?”

 

***

 

I dragged myself into the common room, tired and sore from the previous day’s photo shoot. “Modeling sucks.” 

“Oh, it’s so hard being beautiful.”  Ruby painted on a fake pout.

Eyes only for my new best friend: coffee, I flipped her off, in no mood for the snark. “You actively dress shitty, so no one will look at you.”

“Ya think?”

“Hey.” Gabe stumbled in from Raphael’s room in a floor-length, green silk kimono. 

“Princess, come here.” 

Ruby didn't even acknowledge his presence. There was only one of us who'd answer to Princess. 

I followed Gabe into a room with only a black-covered mattress on a platform. Raff was nearly invisible in the center. I held my breath to keep from inhaling their sex smells. 

“You know I don’t like for them to be in here.” 

“I know,” Gabe said. “Just a second.” He tapped the window, urging me to look. “Isn't that your guy?” 

From that vantage point, all I could say for sure was that a late model muscle car was parked by our building. Still, my chest went radioactive. I jogged back to my room, slathered on lip gloss and brushed my hair. I shrugged out of my white tee and pulled a dress over my jean shorts. 

Dean was asleep with the seat back and a leather jacket over his head. There was a duffel bag in the passenger seat. 

I  knocked on the window. He jumped and yanked off the jacket, sitting up slowly with one open eye, his hair a disheveled mess. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Where's your ring?” 

I folded my hands under my pits. “You look half dead.” 

“Only stopped for gas and coffee.” Dean smacked his dry lips.

“That's not healthy.”

He climbed out of the car and curled a warm hand around my nape. “You haven't talked to me in two weeks, Sam. That ain't healthy, either.” 

My guts coiled tight and threatened to leap through my throat at the words I needed to speak. "This isn't going to work, Dean. Me and you. We’re not, actually, compatible.” 

”Yeah, we are. It’ll work, Sam.” He coaxed me to bend so he could kiss my forehead. “We’re going to fucking make it work.”


	40. Chapter 40

Dean coiled his arms around my waist. “You happy?” 

I nodded to keep the peace.

“You look beautiful. “

“Thank you.” 

He nuzzled my cheek. “I want to take you out for dinner.” 

“We don’t have the money for --” 

“Stop.” 

In Kansas, Dean’s ‘starting up money’ amounted to a paycheck. In New Jersey, it was a little under a month’s rent. I hadn’t yet received a single check yet from the modeling gigs.

Luckily, Gabe had a friend with a place who cut us a break on the security deposit. Raff and Gabe agreed not to tell my parents. So, we moved my few belongings and Dean’s duffel bag into a roach-infested one-bedroom apartment in Queens.

“Dean, we have beans, Raman and $26 between us.” 

“I’m fucking taking you out to dinner, Sam. Someplace nice, so put on a fucking dress and let’s go.” 

I backed  out of his clutches. “I knew it would be like this. God, you make me so sick sometimes.” 

“I make you sick?” Dean scoffed. “If you knew you're going to be miserable, you could have just stayed with your faggots.” 

“Don’t you dare.” I stuck a coral-tipped finger in his face. “You do not get to call them that.” 

“Oh, but you do?” 

“I can call them whatever I want because they’re my friends.” 

We were standing toe to toe when someone knocked on the door. 

“Who is that?” Dean asked. “Another fag?”

“I’m not staying here for this.” I grabbed my messenger bag and stomped to the door. 

On the other side, Castiel held up a pizza and said, “Welcome Committee.” His eyes narrowed, voice lowered. “You okay?” 

I shook my head, wiped my eye, and checked for mascara smeared on my finger. “Why are you here?”

“Do I need to kick this guy’s ass, Sam?”

That was a good joke and I was in no mood to watch a beatdown.

Dean stepped behind me, resting a hand on the small of my back. "Who the fuck are you?" 

“Dean, right? Hey.” Castiel extended the hand not carrying a pizza.

Dean squinted at him a moment before he shook.

“James Novak. Sam and I were in the program together." 

"So you're another artist?" Only Dean could make it sound like a disorder. 

"Cinematographer, actually." Castiel examined my face. "Sam’s told me a lot about you. Now you're living here, I thought I'd swing by and say hi.” 

Dean looked between us, the question bubbling behind his pursed lips. Rather than ask, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “What’d that cost you?” 

“It’s on me.” 

Dean slapped his last twenty-dollar bill on top of the box and showed Castiel to our living room card table: a donation from Gabe and Raff. 

We only possessed the two chairs, so we all sat on the floor. When no one spoke, Castiel launched into a story about some guy whose pants split during a take. He laughed all the way through it and eventually Dean was chuckling along. 

I didn’t touch the pizza and couldn’t fake a smile. 

“James," Dean interrupted. “You excuse us a second?” 

He stood and issued a wordless invitation to our tiny bedroom. I rolled my eyes but followed. 

“What’s your deal?” Dean spat. “Your friend is here. We’re sharing a meal. Everybody’s having a good time, but you. Why you got to be like this?” 

“I didn’t invite him over here.” I crossed my arms. ”You two are having such a great time. Maybe I’ll just ... go for a jog or something.” 

Dean backed me against the door, crowding my space, looming despite being an inch shorter. He reached behind me and yanked the bottom of my ponytail, tilting back my head. 

“Get off of me, Dean.” 

He pressed himself against me, kissed my throat, snaking a hand under the hem of the dress to stroke my thigh. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I was being an asshole.” 

“Let me go.” 

He released my hair and slid an arm around my waist. “I want this to be good. I want us to be so good, Sammy. I want you to be happy with me. How do I fucking make you happy?” 

He burrowed his face in my shoulder  and I stroked his back. “You do. You make me happy, Dean. I’m happy.”

He breathed on my neck for a few moments before he pecked my cheek and returned to the living room with Castiel. 

I fixed my hair, stroked a hand down my neck and had a calming breath. By the time I joined them Dean was completing the grand tour of our place: the leaky bathroom, kitchenette, and the cramped sitting area. 250 square feet of paradise. 

“It's terrific, you guys. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean offered a hearty handshake. 

I put an arm around his waist and my head on his shoulder. Thank God, Castiel had the sense not to touch or hug me before leaving. 

The moment the door shut, I leaped up into Dean’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He stumbled against the wall but shifted my weight so he could carry me to the bedroom. 

“Now, that guy is all right.”

“He’s okay.” I didn’t need those two to be friends. I needed them in different hemispheres.

Dean kicked the door closed. “Cas might even know of some job leads for me.”

“You should probably look for something yourself.” 

“I plan to do that, Sam, but if somebody’s already got leads, I’d be an idiot not to check them out.” He stopped in front of our mattress. “For example, if this limo company he knows of is looking for a mechanic, that sounds like good money.” 

“Dean, please, listen to me and find your own fucking job?” 

“Let’s not fight, baby. Please.” 

Lowering his knees to the mattress, he laid my head on the pillow, and asked again, “You happy?” 

I nodded, but in reality, I was entranced by the intensity of his focus, the color of his eyes, the curve of his mouth.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Dean kissed me like I might break. “You're so beautiful, Sam. So damn beautiful.” 

I suffered the spun-glass touch until I couldn’t bear it anymore. When I thought I’d burst, I wrapped a leg around his and rolled on top, kissing him with a destination.  Pressing my  lips to his, swiping my tongue along the seam, the way Castiel did when he wanted me to open. 

Dean yielded, stroking my hair as I sucked his bottom lip. I rucked up his shirt and nibbled his collarbone. I licked and then nipped one of his nipples, before giving the other the same treatment. 

“Jesus, Sam.” 

I kissed each of Dean’s ribs and dipped my tongue into his navel like Castiel sometimes did and I always loved. 

Dean gripped the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, stomach rising and falling rapidly. "Where did you... Holy God. Sam, please.” 

"Anything you want." 

He pursed his lips rather than make a request, so I flicked open his button and slid down his zipper. I knew what I wanted, even before the sharp scent of Dean’s arousal made my mouth water. I wet my lips and peeled back the denim. 

Dean caught my hands, his face flushed, twisted as if in pain. He slammed his head back against the mattress. “Fuck.” 

"Dean."

He jostled me aside, hopped off the mattress and hobbled through the door. 

Stunned and painfully erect under my dress, I counted backward from ten before following him into the living room. 

Dean sat on the filthy carpet with his head bowed. I knelt before him, hands on his knees and whispered, "Please don't push me away." 

He looked up through bloodshot eyes. "You're still a boy, Sam." 

"I'm not, baby. I swear." 

Dean's eyes grazed over my crotch. 

"You don't have to do anything to me,” I said. “Just, let me take care of you. Please. I want to taste you.” 

I placed a hand on his shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, Dean relaxed onto his back. 

I conjured each memory of every trick Castiel ever used to pleasure me out of my skull. The sweep of the tongue over the frenulum. A lick along the shaft, followed by a cool breath. Relaxing my throat, taking him in so deep and swallowing. 

That did not go as planned and turned into a hacking fit ensued. I suppressed as quickly as I coul d and worked  Dean with my hand so I could watch for any sign of satisfaction.

One of his hands clutched my left wrist to his stomach. The other stayed bound in a tight fist at his side. 

"You can touch me.”

He didn't move. 

I filled my mouth with him, hollowed my cheeks, bobbed as fast as I could. The ocean-sweet burst of Dean's essence flooded my mouth. I held it on my tongue for a moment, savoring his flavor before I swallowed. 

Still shuddering, Dean turned his head and refused to look at me.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my cheeks with my palms. The tears kept flowing long after I ran out of apologies.   
  



	41. Chapter 41

Castiel’s date was a breathtaking, petite girl in traditional Cambodian garb. He must have had her tailor-made to make me feel even more like an ass. She spoke so softly that I had to bend in half to hear her repeat, 

“You’re taller than Castiel.” 

I  forced a chuckle.

Dean was a dream with the yellow carnation clipped to the lapel of his borrowed tux. He bopped his shoulders to the live Jazz trio and gave the guitarist a hearty thumbs up. He laughed with Castiel about something that probably wasn't that funny. 

Meanwhile, I towered over all the other guests, a boy in heels, an evening gown and a gallon of foundation. Subconsciously, I’d adopted the same pose as Kiri: an arm around my waist, the other hand rested on my cheek. I excused myself to the restroom. When I’d nearly escaped, a hand caught my arm. 

“Hey. You having fun?” Castiel asked.

“No.”

He smiled and pulled me close enough to whisper, “Good. Me neither, but I found somewhere we can fuck.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Dean was two-stepping toward the bar, but he’d be looking for me any minute.

“We can leave them to each other. Come on.”

I tugged away from his grasp.

“Seriously, though. Your boyfriend makes me moist.” Castiel turned to watch Dean, as well. 

“I don’t doubt it,” I said.”But he’s not going to bed with you if he won’t touch me.” 

“You’re joking, right?” 

“Is it fucking funny, Castiel?” I painted on a modest smile for the old lady whose aghast expression suggested she’d overheard everything. 

“You should tell him about me, then,” Cas said. “Jealousy is one juicy motivator. It’s how I got to you. Seriously, you would hardly look at me until you found out I was porking other people.” 

“First of all, never ever say porking again.”

“I see.” He nodded. “You’re a girl today.”

“Fuck you.” I shook him off and walked away. 

True to form,  Castiel followed. “Hey. Seriously? You should tell him. I’m kind of done being your nasty secret, and you shouldn’t lie to the guy if you love him.” 

I couldn’t even be upset; he was right.

“He will not understand, Cas.” 

“Give him a chance to prove you wrong. Based on everything you’ve told me about this guy, he’s got an unlimited capacity for personal growth. Either that or he loves the hell out of you.” 

Dean leaned on the bar, chatting it up with the bartender. If he ever stopped flirting with every woman on earth, I’d know he was sick or body-snatched.

Castiel waved across the room and dragged me to the exquisitely dressed, silver-haired woman of the hour. I’d help make her dress, and she wore it immaculately.

Castiel’s mother interrupted her conversation to kiss each of her son’s cheeks. Then she offered me her hand. “Sam.” 

My reputation had preceded me, but God only knew what Castiel had told her.

“Mrs. Novak.” 

She gripped my wobbly hand like an empress. “My son speaks of you often.” 

Castiel’s grin supplied no further information. Mrs. Novak resumed her conversation and left me swatting her son’s hand before Dean discovered it on my ass. 

 

***

 

“That was crazy,” Dean slammed his foot on the gas, smiling like he was high. “Rich people know how to party, man.” 

I groaned and thumbed through missed messages: a text from Bartlett about a potential shoot starting at 5 the next morning. 

Someone got sick, and it was a don’t-miss opportunity. 

I groaned even louder. 

Dean glanced over. “Work?” 

“I hate it so much.” 

He squeezed my thigh. “You know, in Kansas, you wouldn’t have to do shit.” 

“Whatever happened to--” 

“Yeah, no.” Dean raised his hand in surrender. “We give this town two years to realize what a badass designer you are. I’m good with that. I’m just saying...” 

I freed my hair from Castiel’s stylist friend’s bun of doom and thumbed to the next message. It was from my mother, sent 47 minutes earlier. 

MOM: Your dad’s going to call you in an hour. You need to answer and accept the charge. 

  
  



	42. Chapter 42

To be polite, I smiled back at the guy. I did not invite him to cross the train and sit beside me. He made that decision on his own.

He looked me over, Puerto Rican New Yorker machismo oozing from his pores, like a caricature. “How you today, angel?”

“Fine.” I crossed my legs. “How are you?”

“I’m good now.”

His cheesy line didn’t cool the heat rising under my skin.

He placed a hand on my knee. “You not from here, are you?”

This could go one of two ways: the guy is on board, or he's not.

There are varying degrees of not on board. There’s spitting on me and walking away. Then, there’s violence. The only reason I wasn’t afraid was that Campbell prepared me to defend myself.

Scratch that.

I wasn’t concerned for my physical welfare. I could best anyone on that train in hand to hand combat. But I couldn’t bash anyone over the head hard enough to prevent them from rejecting me.

If my boyfriend would simply put out, there’d be no issue because I’d be fulfilled, right?

 

***

 

Dean stayed in the waiting room while the female guard assumed and frisked. If she felt my penis, she didn’t say so.

My father looked through me for a second before his eyes flickered wide with recognition and surprise. He stood and spread his arms.

I leaned forward to hug his shrunken frame.

“No Physical Contact!” A guard shouted with the same tone of voice you’d imagine someone saying, “Freeze, dirtbag” right before they shoot you in the back anyway.

My dad hovered for a moment, looking as though he was willing to risk it. I sat first and he joined me at the table, leaning forward.

“You look amazing, kid.”

I’d braced myself for him to ridicule my dress and hair. Not that he’d ever done that before. He’d just always insisted I look ‘like a boy.’

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Ha. Not Matt? Or Fuckwad?” He smiled. “Good. Daddy's good.”

But Daddy wasn’t good. He was tired and old with yellowish skin sagging in places it didn’t before. But same as ever, his smile never faltered.

“So, any of these guys your bitch?” I whispered behind my hand.

He cracked up laughing and then descended into a chest-deep hacking. When he recovered, he said, “No. My bitch is in Malibu on vacation. I’ll introduce you next time.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Look at you.”

“Look at you.”

“Me?” He peered down at himself. “I look like shit. TB. Who even knew that was still a thing? It’s like fucking polio. Who gets polio in the 21st century? Fucking convicts, that’s who.”

“Don’t call yourself--”

“Honey. Do you see where I am? I’m a con,” he said. “The good news is when I get out? All kinds of street cred.”

I chuckled and shook my head. My dad could always find the joke, but the clock was ticking down our hour.

I bowed my head. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t-”

“Ah...” He waved the rest of my apology away.  “Knock it off. I know you love me.”

I reached across the table.

“No Physical Contact!”

“I had to half fucking die for you to come to see me, but I know there’s love in you somewhere.”

I laughed. He hadn’t changed much at all, aside from looking like a cadaver.  

“Wow, look at how pretty your nails look. What are those, flowers?”

“Swirly things.” I displayed my fingers. Dean loved them long. “The nails aren’t real.”

“Ah, what is?” Dad’s face tightened, suddenly serious. “I need you to be there for your mom. She thinks she’s still a 20-year-old girl.”

“She wants to have another home birth?”

It was the first I’d heard of it.

“Hold the midwife. She’s a fucking lunatic. But that’s why we love her,” he said. “The good news is she’s got an amazing... daughter, who can help her through it.”

“What the hell do I know about having babies, Dad?” Everyone looked at me and I lowered my voice. “It’s insane. She needs to go to the hospital.”

“Yeah. I tried telling her that 16 years ago.”

We were talking about saving my mother’s life, but I wasn’t sure she deserved it. “How can you not hate her?”

“Because she's a wonderful person,” my father answered. “And this isn’t easy on any of us. If you knew the whole deal with her and the baby’s dad, it’s got to be like a dream come true for her.”

“How can you be like this?”

He shrugged. “My choices are to be bitter and suffer, or to be happy for someone I love. Whatever happened to my little... You never used to be so cynical.”

“Your wife is about to have a baby with another man.”

“Thank you for spelling that out for me, Sam. I’d missed that detail. When you put it like that...” He rolled his eyes. “Meanwhile, my little boy is blossoming into a beguiling, if freakishly tall, young woman. Life is fucking insane, Sam. You roll with it, or it rolls you over. Excuse my French, baby. There’s a lot of foul language in here.”

“It’s fucking fine," I said.

He smiled. “And for the record, I couldn’t be prouder of you. Now, I can honestly say I've fathered a son and a daughter without the extra college tuition. Speaking of college--”

“I’m engaged.”

His eyes popped open, and he huffed a raspy breath. “Wow. Everything at once, huh?”

“Mom doesn’t know.”

“Well, tell her,” he said. “Secrets are bullshit.”

A buzzer sounded the end of our time. No hug goodbye. Not even a handshake. My father grinned and waved like I was boarding a plane.

I nosedived into Dean’s arms. He absorbed my bone-racking sobs and stroked my hair. “Hey. It’s okay, Sam. I got you, baby.”

 

***

 

I grabbed a fistful of jet-black hair and jerked back his head, wrapped my other hand around his throat, hammering into him.

“Jesus fuck, Sam. Oh, fuck.”

He was always vocal, but this was different. Maybe it hurt. I didn’t know. Couldn’t care.

“Sam, I need a break.”

I pounded him, balls slapping against his ass, sweat dripping from my face, Castiel squirming to escape.

“At least let me turn over.”

I gripped tighter. Didn’t want to see his face. Just wanted to come. It was the only reason I was there.

“Fuck, Sam.”

That’s exactly what I was doing. I gripped Castiel’s shoulders and slammed into him. One final thrust before I unloaded, trembling and desperate. Then I collapsed onto his bed, not even fumbling with the condom. Just breathing fast through my mouth while the afterglow faded to black.

I propped on an elbow and slapped Castiel’s rump. He hadn’t moved yet and only grunted, “Barbarian.”

“You liked it.”

He turned to face me. “I’d like it better if the cowboy knew.”

“Would you quit with that?” I rolled the rubber off my dick.” Why are you so obsessed with him knowing?”

"'Cause he's my pal, and I'm not ashamed of what we do. Also, because I hate that you are."

"I'm not ashamed, Cas.”

“You are ashamed to be with me,” Castiel insisted. “And you live with a guy who hasn’t seen you naked.”

“He doesn’t want to see me like this, Castiel.”

“Shame. Because you’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it.” I stood and kept my back to Castiel as I stepped into my jeans.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I needed to look him in the eye when I made this declaration. Needed to own it. “I’m going to transition.”

“You’re what?”

I just needed to figure out how to pay for it. I zipped my pants.

Castiel sat up in the middle of the bed, still flushed behind his concerned expression. “That’s what you want to do?”

“Yes, it is,” I said without looking at him.

“You know, your cock is a fucking masterpiece.”

“If you want, I can bring it to you in a jar.”

“Don’t you ever feel like a guy anymore, Sam?”

All the time.

When I was a little kid, life was all pink, and dolls, and horses, and fairies. By the time I was 13, gender shifted like sand beneath my feet.

“Doesn’t matter," I said. “I’m perfectly happy as a girl. I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t. And it’s what Dean needs.”

Castiel took a moment to process, then asked, “But we’re still going to fuck, right?”


	43. Chapter 43

My mother read the checklist aloud. My job was to dig each item out of the birthing box and state its purpose.

“We may as well put the cover on the mattress now,” she said. “It could be any day.”

I had a hard time focusing on anything other than the most recent article I’d read on the Home Sweet Homebirth blog. Industrial strength maxi-pads wouldn't help with post-natal hemorrhaging.

“I understand at home, Mom. I really do.”

Her logic was sound. Hospitals are where people go to be sick and die. The maternity ward is a factory where they peddle C-sections like lollipops. And my mother had no health insurance. Why pay ten grand for something she could do free?

“But why no midwife?”

“I had a midwife with you, and she took charge of everything.” She repacked the box. “It’s my birth experience. I want it to be the way I want it.”

“So, why don’t you call me when it’s over?” I said, only half kidding.

“Because I don’t want to be alone.”

“It doesn’t matter what I read or watch, Mom, I’m not certified or qualified...”

“Sam, you don’t need to do anything but be present. Women have been giving birth long before the practice of obstetrics or midwifery came into being. I don’t need help. I want support.”

“And John?”

I hated to even say his name, but she hadn’t mentioned him since I arrived.

“John... is with Adam at their place. Adam cannot be here. He doesn’t mean harm, but...”

“Of course.”

“And honestly, I don’t want Johnny here either. He smokes like a chimney and he’s...” She sighed. “He’s incredible in bed, but --”

I jammed my fingers in my ears. “Just no.“

“But that fairytale ended when I left.”

I dropped my hands and placed one on my mother’s round belly. Within twenty seconds, the little peanut inside gave me a high five. I laughed knelt to speak directly to the unborn sibling I’d given up dreaming about when I was ten.

“Hey, you. You take it easy on the way out. Head first. Face backwards,” I said. “No monkey business.”

My mom’s skin bulged as the little one changed position. I placed both hands on my mother’s stomach and laughed. Already a performer.

“Is John going to be around for the baby?”

“I'm not even sure I want that, Sam.”

I overcooked pasta and we ate on the sofa in front of the TV. When I rubbed my mother’s feet she called me a saint and an angel. Graciously, she didn’t ask a single question about New York so I didn’t have to lie.

 

***

 

Mom didn’t respond to my knocking, so I sat on the bed and shook her shoulders. “You coming?”

I’d been up for an hour already, deciding between my favorite dress and a white button-down with a necktie. I felt no preference, but it at some point, I’d need to let the Mills know that I would transition.

I hadn’t even told my mother, yet. She had enough on her plate and I hadn’t started hormones or anything. Just had a single consultation with a very nice psychiatrist friend of Gabriel’s.

Mom squinted at me without lifting her head. “You look cute. Where is this again?”

“Topeka to Eva’s church. Then, to the Mills’ for lunch.” I selected a blouse for her.

“What if I go into labor during the service?”

“Then you hold a nickel between your knees,” I said.

She laughed.

“You know how much back and forth we had to go through about the timing.”

All I wanted to do was spend an afternoon with Eva. Jody and I talked about me feeding her the bottle this time.

“Did you sign and send that thing?”

I nodded.

The Mills were decent people and I wasn’t ready to take care of a child. Dean and I still argued every day. Our electricity was out when I left because we couldn’t pay the bill. Eva would have to sleep in a dresser drawer. As much as I hated it, she was better off where she was.

When Eva reached 18, I’d be 34. Then we could be friends, or I could try to be a dad. Who knew? We’d take it from there.

“No word from Abby?”

I didn’t answer. My mother already knew the hours I’d spent in the police station trying to make someone care that she’d run away.

“Where do you think she---”

“Mom, I don’t know. If I knew, don’t you think I’d fuckin—”

“Don’t talk to me that way. Ever.”

At least she was awake.

“Sorry. Are you coming or not?”

She moaned and I took her hands, hoisting the whale to her feet. She closed her eyes and yawned. “You don’t want to be the only sinner in there.”

“I have never sinned in my life.”

My mother smiled and patted my cheek. “Never once.”

 

***

 

Mom drove. Since the cell reception wasn’t reliable, I navigated to the address Sean Mills sent.

We took the last turn down 12th St. “Should be on the --”

My mother gasped and slammed the brakes hard enough to jerk us both forward against the seat belts. In front of the church, two American flags flew upside down. Beneath them, a huge black sign warned:

GOD HATES FAGS

  



	44. PART 3: FAULTLESS

PART 3

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/Fk5QRQg)


	45. Chapter 45

I lay silent as dust, waiting for the wind to scatter me. My mother clung to a mind-numbing cocktail of home remodeling shows and cellphone solitaire. Her hand was small and cold on my arm.

“You okay?”

Stupid questions don’t warrant a response. My daughter was being raised by people who would teach her to hate people who didn’t live and love like she did. What if Eva was a lesbian? She’d hate herself, too. A God who made me this way and hated me for it defied logic.

“What are you thinking?”

I was thinking of stealing the keys, driving to Topeka and stealing back my kid. I was thinking I ought to burn down their ‘church’ while I was at it and dump the ashes down the toilet.

Concern was etched in deep lines across my mother’s forehead, so I said, “I’m fine, Mom.” 

The Property Brothers droned on about grout for a while before she asked, “How’s Matt?”

Of all the interrogating she could have done, that line of questioning was unexpected.

“I mean, how did he look?” she continued. “Is he okay?”

“He looks fine.” 

My dad looked like mowed-over crap, but what was the point of telling her that?

“Did he… say anything?”

Dad called me beautiful, and I’d neglected to mention that I was a father, too.

“He said that you should stop being insane, and go to the hospital,” I said.

My mother nudged me, then she squeezed my hand. Cue tears.

“Sam, you need to leave Eva where she is and work it out when she’s an adult. She’ll see what a good person you are and realize that all that rhetoric is nonsense.” 

It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. I should let strangers brainwash my kid for two decades and then try to undo it by being nice. 

“Dean asked me to marry him.” 

It wasn’t how I’d planned the conversation, but since we were sharing, I added, 

“After I transition. So, then Eva will have a mother and a father who love each other and who adore her.”

“Oh, baby.” 

“If I can just convince him that he wants kids.” 

My mother covered her face and breathed in loudly between her fingers.

“I think,” she said, “It’s not too late for us to pack up the Subaru and drive to California.” 

I laughed, not because anything was funny. I just didn’t want to cry. My mother went on squeezing my hand until she fell asleep.

I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and finally read Dean’s text. 

DEAN: Hey angel. How’s it going?

SAM: Kind of awful actually

DEAN: Want to talk?

His voice always soothed me, but Dean hated to talk on the phone, and I didn’t want to wake my mother. Didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think anymore about the shitshow with the Mills.

SAM: No. Heading to sleep now

DEAN: K. Sleep good. Love you.

I breathed in the words and kissed the phone.

 

*******

 

_The cattle are lowing_

_Moaning, groaning, growling_

_Noisy fuckers_

_On wings._

_Cows buzzing around my ears._

_I swat at them._

_They gripe on_

I rolled onto my side and my eyes popped open. I rolled further and landed on my hands and knees on the floor. Fully awake, I ran to the door, shouting, “Mom!”

She wasn’t in bed; she was in the shower, moaning like a sick cow.

I pressed an ear to the bathroom door and knocked twice. “Mom. You okay?”

The answer was another moo.

I eased the door open and diverted my eyes from her nudity.

“It’s happening.”

The shower door screeched open. Blood was puddling at her feet faster than it could wash down the drain. My heart leaped into my throat and threatened to bring up my last supper. 

Castiel had asked to film this. I’d rather not even been there.

I stood in the middle of the floor, deep breathing for a second. It didn’t help. So I chanted to myself, 'Blood is natural. Blood is normal. It’s not too late.’

“Please, Mom, please. Let me call an ambulance. We’ll figure out how to pay for it.”

Being a hippy is all fine and great, but not when it threatens your life. I’d done the research and my mother could get state or federal insurance. Maybe not the best in the land, but coverage. Her response to that revelation had been to purchase a birthing pool, on credit.

I turned off the hot spray and wrapped a towel around her shoulders. Mom shook it off, bent over and gripped the counter to steady herself. “I’m fine. Fill up the pool.”

I would have rather hit her over the head and carried her to the car, but she was right. Her body, her choice.

Another tremor hit and her muscles became tectonic plates shifting beneath her skin. The sounds she made weren't human, or bovine. They were primordial agony.

I could bolt. Run from the bathroom, into the street and flag down the next car that passed.

When the contraction passed, my mother flumped onto the toilet, hands on her knees, sobbing like she was in mourning. Did she suffer the same way for me?

“Mom.”

I touched her shoulder, but she only swayed back and forth, humming with her eyes clamped shut. She was going to have the baby in the toilet.

I filled the pool with warm water and checked the temperature. When it was ready, I tucked an arm under my mother’s, but she refused to stand.

I could still call 911. What was the worst that could happen? At least she’d still be alive to kill me. 

“Okay.” My mother came back online and reached for my hand.

I took the CPR course, and watched the videos. I read the books, but I wasn’t ready. How does anyone ever become ready for this? 

My pulse pounded in my teeth, palms coated in sweat as another contraction welled up. They were coming faster. 

With my arm around Mom, it shook me too. We jolted and quivered and she gave another primal wail, longer than the last. 

There was an even shorter reprieve between that and the next.

How long? I’d forgotten to time them.

Crap. That was important.

Worse crap: I’d forgotten to turn off the sink and the pool was overflowing in the living room. Why was this my life? 

I used a pail to empty some of the water down the tub. On the third schlepping trip, Mom clutched my arm. She didn’t have to speak. I dropped the bucket, hoisted her to her feet and began the long march toward the pool. Five steps in, she howled and dropped to her knees.

I’m strong, but I didn’t expect her to collapse.

“Mom?”

Her response was ungodly, unearthly. Like that pig, just before the slaughter.

“Mom, please.”

It was two feet to the pool. In theory, if we could make it, the baby would slide out under water. Then, Mom could scoop it up and nurse it: smooth and easy and bathed in heavenly light like Madonna and Child. 

But Mom was not moving to the pool. She was on her hands and knees in a bloody puddle, arching her back. 

I positioned myself under her arm, but she tensed. As she screamed again, her knees slipped apart, mouth wrenched wide. Her head stretched back farther than seemed possible, then lolled forward. 

It was like being in a horror movie. 

My mother bayed and howled, like she didn’t need to breathe. 

A neighbor was going to call the cops if I didn’t. 

Her body kicked into instinct and mine did the same. I knelt behind her, took a deep breath and touched - not only my mother’s sopping, blood-warm vagina - but a crown of solid bone.

If ever there was a moment to faint, that was it. I swooned in a dark swell of disgust and anxiety. I lurched, then, choked back the bitter bile as my mother screamed, her belly squeezed and trembled. 

Was I supposed to say ‘push?’ 

One final shriek and a slippery, squirming, mess of skin and gore dropped into my hands. Not human. Just squirming flesh. 

The baby, still in its sac.

With my forefinger, I punctured, then peeled away the skin-thin coating. The prize inside was a wriggling, tiny, cheese-covered alien. It wasn’t crying at all. 

Was that a bad thing? Shouldn’t they cry?

Grey eyes fluttered open and it sputtered. My insides quivered, hanging on my sibling’s first breath.

Just as I was starting to melt, my mother reached out. She’d situated herself on some damp towels, back leaned against the birthing pool. I had to let go. 

Mom laid the little one on her chest, both naked as the first day until I fetched a blanket.

The rest of the process I’d learned on YouTube: perform the APGAR, await the placenta. But what I remember most is the warm rush of awe as I kneeled beside mother and child.

I hadn’t even looked between the baby’s legs.


	46. Chapter 46

I stood at the door, watching the wide-beaked baby bird rooting around for the nipple before latching on. I chuckled at the hunt and slurp and touched the furry little scalp. “You do realize that you’re drinking fluid from another human being.”

“Don’t knock it, kid,” my mother said. “You were a huge fan.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Have you thought about what I said?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot, Sam. And the baby’s name is John.”

Double kick to the gut. First of all, to name my sibling after that creep. Then to choose the most gendered name on the list.

“Listen,” I took a deep breath before repeating, “Trucks  _ and  _ tiaras. Yellows and greens. Play down pronouns as much as possible.”

“This isn’t Sweden, Sam. That’s a lot of work.”

I ignored her cis-privileged naysaying and continued, “Plenty of hugs.”

“Did I not hug you?”

She did the best she could have, but she had more information now and could do better. I’d call the baby Sprout. It sounded like Scout, which is what I would have named Eva if it had been up to me. 

My mother’s eyes slipped shut and I started on the paperwork for Sprout’s birth certificate. It would be so easy to write Jerry, Jordan, or Jamie, but it wouldn’t matter. 

I could have left the SEX blank, as well, but they’d just assume it was a mistake and send it back. Sprout had a penis and chances are, Male is correct. Chances are, he’ll be the cis, straight, easy boy every parent hopes for. 

But it ought to be up to him.

“And if he’s a football playing firefighter who dates cheerleaders and scratches in public?” Mom asked with her eyes closed.

“I’ll love him anyway.”

“Generous of you, Sam.”

She’d already dressed Sprout in a blue shirt. It was out of my hands.

 

*******

 

 

The screen froze while my mother was waving the baby’s pudgy hand. “Hey JJ, say hi to your other big brother.” 

My face warmed. How could she go back to calling me that, and in front of Dean? I opened my mouth to correct her when Dean asked, “Do you see Adam from time to time?” 

Of course. Sprout had two brothers and a soon-to-be sister. Dean didn’t talk about it often, but the hardest part of leaving Oskaloosa was feeling that he’d abandoned Adam. 

My mother answered that the other Winchesters had come to see the baby. Adam seemed fine. Then she added, 

“By the way, do you know a James Novak? Because someone sent a three-year supply of diapers and I don’t even know who to bow down and praise.” 

I didn’t answer. Pretty soon, Sprout started to fidget, so we signed off Skype. 

“Feel like a walk?” Dean asked. 

Even though we lived in Queens, he spent more time outside than between four walls. Whenever he had two days off, he braved the five-hour drive to the Adirondacks to pitch a tent and ‘get real a little bit.’

I was perfectly happy to pass those entire days on the sofa: drawing, reading, designing, sleeping. As far as I was concerned, communing with bugs undermined the purpose of human evolution. But on this occasion, a walk was better than the classic ‘you’ll want to sit down for this.’

My hair fell over my shoulders in frizzy ringlets, since I’d loosened the plaits Dean braided during our Twilight Zone marathon the previous night. I had to hand it to Rod Serling. A touch of the freaky along with Dean’s fingers in my hair had been worthy medicine for the worried mind. 

The night ended when he broke off our make-out sesh with an awkward chuckle and, “Easy, Tiger.”

But for once in forever, Dean wasn’t my biggest problem. He wasn’t a solution, either. 

“I know you’re thinking about her,” he said. “I wish there was something we could do." 

He was indirectly correct. All trains of thought lead back to Eva.  I dropped my head on Dean’s shoulder, soaking in his sympathy, and praying he’d feel so generous after the talk.

Maybe sitting down was a good idea. I suggested a bench as the wind changed, carrying with it the stench of sewage. 

“James Novak,” Dean said. “That’s Castiel’s desk name, isn’t it?” 

James Castiel Novak had finally stopped buying me things, only to send my little brother thousands of dollars worth of diapers. 

“I told you that guy was all right, “ Dean said. “I don’t know why you never want to hang out with him anymore.”

“I’m glad you like him so much, Dean.” I cleared my throat. “He suggested we get married.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, I told you. We have to wait until you’re --”

“Me and him.” 

Dean sat stock-still and silent while I battled the urge to puke all three hot dogs. I’d wolfed them down, not because I was so hungry. A discreet way to not be a lady. If I had to wear a sundress when I preferred sweats, at least I could overeat and belch after guzzling my soda. Dean had pretended to watch squirrels rather than comment on my micro-rebellion.

“Castiel?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard me clearly. 

I nodded. 

“And you said?” 

“Nothing. I wanted to talk to you first.” 

Nodding, Dean disentangled his fingers from mine. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, looking left and right before deciding which direction to walk away.

 


	47. Chapter 47

 

The air outside of the NYU’s Transgender Care Center was a different consistency, or maybe it was the gravitational pull. I blinked, adjusting to the change in atmosphere and the too-bright-to-be-fall sunshine.

“You okay, Sam?”

“Hm?” I’d forgotten Raff was there.

His hand on my shoulder ensured I wouldn’t float into the ether.

“That was a lot, hm?”

“Yeah. No,” I stuttered. “It was pretty much as expected.”

“Should we go fill that then?”

One last look at the prescription before I slid it across the pharmacist’s counter. Raff graciously pretended to be riveted by foot creams. The woman in the white lab coat needed less than thirty minutes to call my name and hand over a white paper bag with my future in it. 

“Okay, so, to recap what the doc said, no doubling up or anything,” Raff instructed as if I hadn’t heard the spiel myself. 

He was wearing too much cologne. Maybe someone should have told him that. 

His presence was my fault. I’d invited Raphael for support; he was being supportive. Gabriel’s friend the psychiatrist had removed all hurdles and hoops. A few in-depth conversations in which I only slightly exaggerated my history of distress, and voila - a three-month supply of estrogen.  

“You want to take the first one now?”

“No.” 

I’d wait and do it with Dean. 

“Remember,” Raff said. “These things take time. You have the pamphlet for the support group?”

I patted my bag. It was in there, along with keys, and a book, and my cell phone, and eyeliner, and mulberry wine lipstick, and all those things a young ladies needs. 

An asshole cabby laid on his horn and the old lady in the crosswalk flipped him off. 

“You want to come back with me?” Raff offered. “Looks like you could use a few dozen of Gabe’s pancakes.”

I chuckled to be polite. “No. I agreed to help my dad get his crap from storage.”

Better get all the heavy lifting done while I was still a guy.

“Your dad’s out?”

“Yesterday,” I said. “He found a room somewhere, so…”

“I know a few people who will be interested to know that.”

“Well, spread the word,” I stuffed the lady-pills into my bag. “The con is free.” 

 

**_***_ **

 

The stink of diesel still seeped off the exhaust, long after we’d cut the U-Haul’s engine. My dad had inadvertently parked beside a dead rat. I stepped around it and carried in the last box of books past the door with the shouting lady, up the stairs that smelled like someone’s impromptu port-a-potty.

The table tilted when I plopped down the box. I peeled off my jacket, still sweating from hauling, although a wicked cold wind was settling in as night fell.

I still hadn’t acquired the taste of beer, but I accepted my dad’s offer. Neither of us said anything about my age or the crappiness of his room. I’d already heard the tales of Matt Cohen’s good behavior and time served prior to sentencing. 

Silence had sprouted between us in the months since that one visit. Drinking helped to fill the space and imitate intimacy. 

“Hey, you still trick or treat?” 

I snickered. “No, Matt.”

“Matt now?” He nodded and had another swig.

I ached to leave, but I’d been there under an hour. So, to pass a bit more time, I launched into a detailed play by play of Sprout’s birth. Just talking about gave me a fresh jolt of excitement. 

Riding that wave between creation and destruction. Being the first to touch a new life. Caring for mother and child afterward. It was a high like nothing I’d ever experienced. It also made me mourn for the privilege of bearing my own children. 

Nature had dictated. I long as I had my penis, I could squirt and impregnate a thousand women, but I’d never carry and deliver one myself. It was a cruel loss I hadn’t even known to suffer until I was up to my elbows in the gore and glory of my little brother entering the world. 

“John Jr, huh?”

I shrugged. 

“You got pictures?”

“You really want to see?”

My dad shook his head. “Nah. But she’s doing good?”

“You could call her.”

We both knew she’d take him back in a heartbeat.

“We agreed not to talk for a while.” My father let the fact anchor him for a moment before he smiled.  “What about my future son in law? Am I ever going to get to meet this Dean guy?”

“Complicated.”

“Do I need to kick his ass?” 

I pulled down my hair to tighten the scrunchy. “I should probably go get some sleep.”

“Shoot tomorrow?”

I nodded. It was a good excuse and true, though not how my dad meant. 

I’d asked and Simon had suggested a way of making a bunch of money really quickly. It was weird, but technically legal (with my fake ID). Maybe the average 17 year old should have their every activity restricted. I had a fiancé, an apartment, a kid, and a planet to shoulder.

In any case, rest was a good idea. For some reason, though, my feet remained planted in the center of that sticky carpet.

Matthew Stephen Cohen had been a fireball when he went in, with midnight waves of hair that crested over sea-blue eyes. When he came out, his crew cut was as much salt as pepper, and his still-handsome face was gaunt and haunted.

“Dad, why were you in prison?”

“That’s none of your business, Splash.” He scratched his nose and flipped some internal switch that cut off the flow of words and made his expression indecipherable. 

Before I forgot, I pulled the wad of cash from my back pocket. My father raised his hands and scuttled across the room. 

“Whoa. No, Sam. I can’t.”

I caught him, placed the money in his palm, holding hands and dollars firmly between my own. “You don’t have a choice, old man. Take it, or I will kick your ass.”

“Probably could, too.” He laughed. “Fine. I owe ya.”

“No, you don’t,” I said. “Just get your shit together.”


	48. Chapter 48

 

Boomer’s eyes were a deeper caramel than his skin. The blues, reds, and greens of his tattoos were almost swallowed up by the same honey complexion that made his teeth shine like ivory. The word ‘courage’ was chiseled in cursive over his six-pack and I tried to muster mine.

His gentle smile had been warming me since we’d met an hour earlier. My fingernails gouged his biceps while his legendary cock stretched my stubborn hole. A literal ten-inch wonder: awesome to behold, less awesome to be holed.

“You got to relax, kid.”

I nodded and held my breath. Boomer had rimmed me for what could have been an hour. I’d proclaimed myself ready. But once he’d approached threshold my entire body sprang tense as a tightrope.

“It’s okay. Just relax,” he said. “You want to start on your belly?”

“Not your call,” the director, Sherry, reminded from outside of the shot. “Don’t you move.”

Boomer held my gaze. I tried to breathe in deep, despite the weight of solid muscle crushing my lungs. His kiss was minty. The little things. I couldn’t imagine shooting a scene with a guy who had bad breath. Had Boomer brushed or popped an Altoid? 

“I already told you,” he said. “Any reason at all you want me to stop, say the word.”

I nodded again and stared at the ceiling while the tip of his ten ripped into my core. I drew blood from Boomer’s arms, but the man looked down at me with pure caution and care.

“Cut,” Sherry called out and stepped next to the bed. 

The make-up girl padded sweat from my forehead and adjusted my hair while Sherry kneeled beside us. Boomer leaned back and stroked himself, allowing me space to drop my legs.

“Andy,” Sherry rolled her eyes. “I need you to either be enjoying it or hating it. Either way is fine. Just not zoned out. Simon said you know how to work on camera.”

“I do.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “So, pick a motivation and give me something I can work with.” 

“This isn’t really your first time?” Boomer asked and glared at Sherry.

She shrugged and said, “Authenticity.”

“You know what, Sher…” He dropped one foot to the floor. “This has felt off from the jump.”

“Fine. You’re out,” Sherry said. “I’ll call Topher.”

“That ape will pummel this kid.”

“And it will be so hot.” She smirked. “Or you can give me something different. Andy, you ready?”

I nodded, praying for Boomer and not the ass-pummeling ape. Sherry took her place by the camera and Boomer refreshed his lube.

“Are you 18, Andy?”

“Mmhm." I was close enough for it to be true.

Boomer didn’t look convinced, but he sighed and kissed my cheek. “You’re a beautiful kid. You know that? I’d love to see you without all that makeup.”

I gripped his back and let him kiss me. Reentry burned like Hell and I forced myself not to clench.

“You all right?”

I squeezed my eyes shut as Boomer slid in an inch. Enough to make me gasp. Then, he glided back out, drawing a whimper. Slightly deeper on the next push.

“She won’t like it,” he whispered. “But you can ask for a break anytime.”

“No, I’m fine.” Speaking made me release the breath I’d been holding.

The check. It would be over soon and I’d have that money. The least I could do was not make Boomer feel like an animal. I repeated, “I’m fine." 

“You’re so good, Andy. So tight.” He thrust deeper, but no faster. “You feel so fucking good.”

Would Dean say that to me? Where would his hands be? On my waist? Or on my face? In my hair. Definitely.

I took another inhale and tilted my hips, adjusting the angle until a surge of pleasure swept up my spine. 

“Oh, God.”

“That’s it, Baby.”

Dean would call me Baby. Or Little Girl. Dean would call me his pretty girl and kiss me until I cried.

And I did cry because it wasn’t Dean. It was this kind stranger filling me and brushing against my prostate until I was on the brink of coming untouched.

“Andy, are you --”

“Don’t stop.” 

I jerked myself for only a few seconds, sobbing and tensing and releasing in a fountain that sprayed Boomer’s chest, and chin, with a sprinkling on his parted lips.

Shudders racked his body.

“Fuck. I’m coming.” 

He pulled halfway out, quivered and slammed in again. 

It hurt and I shouted, but no one yelled cut, so I just clutched his back and squeezed my eyes shut. A few calm tremors and Boomer pulled out, pausing with his tip at my hole. 

A sloppy mess of cooling cum and lube slipped out of me while tears streamed hot down my face. Boomer’s jaw clenched, his mortified expression barely concealed beneath a professional veneer and the fading of genuine lust.

Smiling, Sherry stood and said, “And She-male's First Time. That’s a wrap.”  

 

** *****

 

Sherry slid the envelope across the desk and grinned, “For future reference, there’s even more money in tits and bits. You are planning to transition, right?”

“Yeah.”

I peeked at the check. As expected: $5000.

Twenty precious hours of lawyer time earned in six.

Was it better etiquette to find Boomer and shake his hand or run out of the front door?

One of the camerawomen bumped into me, apologized and said, “Hey. Nice work.”

“Thanks.”

“A bunch of us are going to go down to Fiona’s and grab a drink.”

“Um, I’m 18, so…”

She snickered. “You’re adorable, you know that? Hey Gloria,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Andy’s 18. Can we just go to your place?”

Boomer stepped out of the bathroom, chocolate eyes melting with care. He was half a foot shorter than I was, but lacked nothing in confidence. He put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Was that okay for you?”

“Of course.” I shrugged like I shot porn every other day. “Was it for you?”

Boomer chuckled and nodded. “It was great. You were fantastic.”

The same camerawoman punched Boomer’s arm and asked, “You coming to Gloria’s?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m getting to be an old man.”

“Come on, Mick.” She nudged him. “Andy’s coming.”

Boomer scratched his pitch-black helmet of hair, parental worry returned to his face. “You drive?”

I shook my head.

“Why don’t you let me take you home? You don’t want to hang out with these nuts.”

The camerawoman linked her arm with mine. “Yeah, not unless you want to have some fun.”

 

***

 

Ida was right; they were crazy fun.

Karaoke, dancing, drinking, lines, and pills fun. I did it all until I was splayed over the edge of the couch with somebody drinking shots from my navel. Who knew who? Who cared? 

Whoever it was had all ten fingers tucked into the elastic of my panties. Someone else cupped my crotch, and a third someone sucked my tongue. It was heaven to let go and be in the moment. No Eva, no Dean. Just all those hands and mouths on my body.

All of a sudden, it was all gone. A brown knight in shining leather hoisted me to my feet, through the door, and into an elevator. I tried to kiss him and he turned away. 

“That’s enough, all right?” 

I took that to mean it was okay to pass out.

My eyes opened again in a clown car. Always wanted to ride in one of those.

I slipped under again.

“This where you live?” The driver wasn’t a clown, though. 

He wasn’t a cabbie either. He was a professional fucker. I laughed out loud.

“Sam, is this your place?”

The building looked familiar. Someone certainly lived in it.

“I looked at your ID. Is it real? Is this where you live?”

The Fucker tucked himself under my arm. I rested my face on his head. His hair was hard and that made me laugh, too. He smelled like manly pine needles. Like a lumberjack. He stumbled under my weight, which was even funnier.

Dean answered the door, his beauty a physical pain that pierced my chest. He was mine, but he wasn’t mine. He looked so confused, I dropped my face into my hands and giggled.

“Hi, I’m, uh … My name is Mickey Cruz. I, uh… I take it this is yours.”

He rolled me into Dean’s arms, dropping off a package.

“This man has a humongous cock.” It seemed a good time to share. “I mean fucking epic. Dean’s cock is big, but it’s nothing compared to yours.” 

Dean pursed his lips.

“I’m gonna…” Boomer jerked his thumb toward the elevator and made like a tree.

I waved.

“You want to explain, Sam?”

I shoved past Dean into the apartment. He always had some gross beer in the fridge. I turned up my nose and let the nastiness dribble cold down my throat and over my chin, cleaving my blouse to my chest.

Dean yanked the bottle from my hand. “Sam, who the Hell was that spic?”

“Fuck you,” I said.

Then, everything faded to black.


	49. Chapter 49

 

Fake pine scent seeped out of every wood surface in the lawyer’s office. The antique chair was plush and pretty, but I struggled to get comfortable. I switched position, crossed my left leg over right and laid my elbow on the armrest. Not better.

Castiel peeked over my shoulder as I thumbed through NYU’s nursing website for the third time that day.

“Have you apply yet?”

I placed the phone face-down on my lap. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, Cas, it’s a complete change of direction. I’ve had my life mapped out since I was ten. Design and comics. Not… fucking midwifery.”

The first bitter sip from the secretary’s coffee burned my tongue and I swore.

“You’re 17, Sam. You’re allowed to do some vacillating,” Castiel said. “Why not apply and decide once you get in?” 

“Not all of us are made out of money. I can’t afford to toss $50 away on an application unless I’m sure.” 

Attending Sprout's birth had been exhilarating, but nursing was a huge commitment. 

“You know money doesn’t have to be a problem for you.”

I flicked his hand from my wrist.  “I can’t marry you.” 

“Just explain why you would rather suffer and scrounge with Dean, when you could--” 

“I thought it wasn’t a competition, Cas. Thought you didn’t want to fight him.” 

"I never want to fight anyone, Sam. I just want you to be happy.” 

I jerked away from his hand. 

“You could go to school, have Eva, transition. I don’t even care if you fuck him. As long as you come home to me.” 

“I’m not doing this now.” I stood and my sensible size 15 heels pinched my toes again. “Where is this guy? He better not be charging us while we wait.”

The wall was lined with framed certificates. The prime desk spot featured a staged photo of wife and two children this high-powered lawyer probably never saw. 

“Sam, sit down and relax.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Castiel followed me across the room and began to massage my shoulders. “Lawyers make everybody nervous, Sam. But you don’t have to worry; this guy is the best.” 

I could have broken his fingers, but I let him knead my nape and caress my arms.

When the attorney entered, Castiel stood and shook his hand. “Gerald Pritchard says you’re a shark.”

“I enjoy my work.” The lawyer’s smile was more like a history teacher’s: calm, harmless and calculated. 

He shook with me, too and waited until I was seated to ease into the chair behind his desk. 

“Ms. Cohen?” 

His diplomas had introduced George Pruitt. He scanned his file and said, “I’ve done quite a bit of preliminary work here, and I’m going to be honest. Even if we wait until you reach majority, your age, gender, and the fact that this will be tried in Kansas is not a cakewalk. California, Vermont, someone of your unique... personage, might even have an edge.” 

I’d have mistrusted if he’d told me anything different.

Castiel leaned forward in his chair. “What are we talking about?” 

“300 hours of prep even before trial, and that’s an estimate,” he said. “Ms. Cohen, I have to ask, are you willing to accept some form of visitation?” 

My mind was stuck on 300 hours times $250 per hour. That was a lot of porn. 

Castiel answered, “No. She wants her kid.” 

“May I call you Sam?” Pruitt folded his glasses and placed them on the desk. “You do identify solely as female? Because my records indicate —” 

“Yes.” Again Cas, unbidden, to the rescue. “She’s... overwhelmed.” 

Pruitt nodded, feigning sympathy. “My sources indicate some talk of you two marrying.” 

“No,” I said. 

For once, Castiel remained silent. 

Pruitt waited for him to speak, then continued, “I have to say. That would be a compelling argument in your favor. The financial and emotional stability... and if you got annulled after we brought Eva home, legally, there’s nothing anybody can do at that point.” 

Cas touched my hand and said, “Right now, I’m here as a friend.” 

“Let me be frank, Sam.” Pruitt eased back in his chair and folded his hands over his paunch. “I don’t know that there’s a judge on earth who would take a child from a stable, loving two-parent home and give it to a single, transgendered teenager.”

“Whose side are you on?” Castiel asked. 

“If Sam hires me, I’m on her side. That’s why I’m being honest,” Pruitt said. “The court, however, is on Eva’s side. And you got to give me something they can believe in and that I can fight for.”

I’d known it was a lost cause before I began, but if I didn’t try, how could I ever look Eva in the eye? 

“So, if I were married to an older man…" 

“How much older?” Pruitt asked. 

“21.” 

He shrugged. “It depends on the man.”

“He’s wonderful.”

The lawyer scribbled a note. “Is he employed, stable, clean? He loves your daughter?” 

“He’s never met her.” 

“See, that’s the kind of detail —“ 

“Castiel has never met her either.” 

“Yes, but Mr. Novak is heir to a multi-billion dollar company.  No one can overlook that fact. Again, just being completely earnest.” Mr. Pruitt capped his pen. “Think about it, Sam. We’ve got time.” 

George Pruitt had time. I had sleepless nights and crying fits.

 

*******

 

The world disappeared: the clacking of the train over the tracks, the blur of graffiti, the voices and mysterious odors of fellow passengers. It all faded into a haze as I gazed past my reflection into a deep, dark nothingness. 

I missed my stop and had to double back. 

When I finally closed the apartment door, I leaned against it with both hands on the knob behind me.  

Dean blended in with our rescue couch: feet on the second-hand table, a beer in his hand, and a football game on the 13-inch screen. Without turning around, he asked, “How was it?”

“Lame.” 

I kicked off the treacherous shoes and sat beside him. I stole a swig of his beer, not because I wanted it, but to make him look at me. It didn’t work. 

“You ever sleep with Cas Novak?” 

Hello to you, too.

“I’ve had sex with everyone on Manhattan except you.” 

That got his attention. Dean blinked, sucked his lip and nodded before clearing his throat. “I’m going to step out.”

“Why do you care?” I ran to block the door. “It changes nothing between us. I sleep with other men. Another man keeps begging me to marry him, and you--”

“What am I supposed to do, Sam? Kill ‘em?” Dean chuckled, blowing his beer-soaked breath into my face. “I’ve thought about it. A lot.” 

“Why don’t you just go home?”

He glanced at the bedroom door where his duffel leaned against the wall, stuffed full, with his leather jacket draped on top. A cold front rippled over my skin. I could have come home from the lawyer’s office to an empty apartment. 

“So what are you waiting for?” I asked, trembling. “You want me to carry it down for you?”

“I’m waiting for this to make sense. I’m waiting to be over you. Because once that happens, I won’t be nothing but a ghost.”

“Just go now.” I spat out the words like I meant them. 

“Thing is, it’s never going to happen, Sam.” Dean slumped onto the back of the sofa. “I already know damn well I ought to leave you, and I can’t fucking do it. I don’t even know why. All I know is that looking at you is like seeing everything all at once.”

A new urge swept over me. I could wrap my hands around Dean’s throat and squeeze until he was compelled to choke me. If neither of us let go, we’d both be out of our misery. 

“Dean, you don't love me.”

“You don't get to tell me what I feel, Sam.”

“You have this idea of what you want me to be and you love that.  You have no fucking idea.”

“Then show me,” he stepped close enough to strangle. “Show me who you are.” 

He wanted to see me? I grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer, throwing off his balance. When he staggered, I spun and backed him against the wall, squeezing his crotch until his mouth went slack. Then, I plundered his beautiful mouth with my tongue. He moaned and I clasped his skull in both hands, crushing against his solid body and sliding my legs between his thighs. 

He gasped into my mouth but didn’t protest until I opened the button on his jeans. 

“Do you love me, Dean?”

“More than anything.”

“Then, let me.”

I knelt and he rested his hands on my shoulders. I worshipped and devoured. Needed, kneaded, gazed up into jade eyes, and opened my throat to swallow him whole. His balls tightened, fingers twisted in my hair. Then, he pushed me back, put himself away and apologized. 

Still kneeling, I dropped my face into my hands. 

“Stand up, Sam.” 

I shook my head. If he wouldn’t allow me this, there was no chance for us. And he was surprised that I ran to Castiel? 

“Fucking stand up,” Dean shouted, then lowered his voice. “Please.” 

“Why don’t you want me?”

“You know that’s not true. I don’t want to have sex with a man, Sam. Not even you. But that’s on me and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“It means you’re petty.”

“Because I’m straight?” He scoffed and paced a few steps. “Fine. That’s my disorder, then. You’ve always been the most beautiful girl in the world to me, but every day, your voice gets a little deeper, shoulders get a little broader. You’re three fucking inches taller than I am, and I know you can’t change that. But you haven’t taken your pills in weeks.” 

“Are you counting them?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yes, I am. I’m counting the days until you’re a woman and I can make love to you the way I want to. The way I need to. And you’re out there, with Castiel.” 

“Trying to bring my daughter home.” 

“Trying to make me fucking crazy. Maybe you want me to kill them all. Maybe that’s why you do this. To see if I will,” he said. “You want to see how much I love you.”


	50. Chapter 50

 

Castiel was right; the air in the Lower Bay was visibly clearer than in the city. I inhaled a lungful of the too-warm-for-winter wind and gripped the railing to steady my watery knees. Mrs. Novak thanked the captain for his favorable update and turned her baby blues to me. “Cassie tells me you’re quite the expert on pregnancy and childbirth.”

“I wouldn’t say expert, ma’am.”

”Well, it’s fascinating.” She twirled the champagne in her flute. “Considering that you’ll never bear children yourself.” 

Castiel choked on his drink.

“Maybe that’s part of the reason, ma’am,” I said. 

Mrs. Novak had another sip. “Call me Carmen.”

“I’m sure you know more than I do, Carmen, being a mother and all.” The drink tickled my tongue. 

“Oh, God,” she laughed. “I try to put that whole thing out of my mind. Some of the worst days of my life.”

She must have meant a rough pregnancy, but Castiel stared at the skyline, looking sea sicker than I felt. 

The gulls were louder once the engines were cut. The wind died down, too, but Mrs. Novak and I kept the silk scarves over our hair. 

“75-degree day in December, I said, Castiel, why don’t you bring Sam out on the water?”

This is what it was like to have all the money in the world. I sniffed the lip of my glass and waited for Mrs. Novak to make the offer.  I’d practiced my gratitude speech and a non-ingratiating a smile. I couldn’t accept from Castiel without expectations attached. From Mrs. Novak, though, I could receive a loan and vow to repay every cent once Eva was home.

“So, have you turtledoves set a date?”

Cas’ eyes snapped to me. That ferret. He brushed my hair from my shoulder and I plotted his murder. 

“I have to admit, I was a bit taken aback by the haste,” Mrs. Novak took my arm and strolled along the deck. “But Cassie has helped me understand the urgency. I’m very eager to meet her… my granddaughter.”

I faked a smile.

“And before little Eva joins us, I have a surprise for her parents.”

“Mom, I told you…” Castiel looked away from the small box in his mother’s hand. “We don’t want anything.”

“Well, it’s going to be yours, eventually, anyway.” 

He refused to accept it, so Mrs. Novak dropped the box onto my palm and insisted I open it. Inside, there was only a rusty key. 

The look on Castiel’s face morphed from annoyance to awe. “Is this…?” He held it like an irreplaceable relic. “Green Street?” 

His mother gave the most matronly smile I’d seen on her heavily Botoxed face.

“I grew up in this house,” Castiel chuckled. “It belonged to my grandparents. I was really little. Back when mom was still busting her ass in marketing.”

He kissed her cheek. She patted his back and said, “It still needs a lot of work.”

While Castiel was still geeking out over his key, Mrs. Novak looked at me and asked, “How about you, Sam?”

“Ma’am?”

“When do you plan to go undergo renovation?”

Castiel glanced between us.

“I was merely thinking,” his mother continued. “It would be best if little Eva only knows you only as Mommy. Simpler for her than to have to make a switch later, don’t you think?”

“Mom…”

“I mean, there’s nothing to stop you, now. The best surgeons, best hormones. You become a Novak, it’s all available to you now, isn’t it? That must be very exciting to come from… where was it? Kentucky?”

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t run. I could dive into the Bay, but what I did instead was keep quiet and compliment my lobster when dinner was served. 

“I’d suggest Germany,” Mrs. Novak continued the conversation. “They’ve been performing the surgery longest there. But I understand you can make a whole vacation of it in Bangkok. How would that be for a honeymoon?”

Castiel covered his mouth, but it was a bit late for that.

“But I’m no expert, am I?” Mrs. Novak waved the topic from the air like a pesky bug. “Why don’t we eat?”

 

**_***_ **

 

In the cabin, I undressed and took the bottle of hormone pills from my bag. I poured one into my palm and looked at it until my vision started to swim. I popped it into my mouth and held it there, letting the acid coating dissolve on my tongue. 

Dean was right. I wasn’t consistent with taking them. Some days I would. Then, I’d let three days pass. In seven months, there were no nubs under my nipples, no less hair, no tingling sensations, no shrinking balls or libido. I was still the same hairy, horny animal as ever.

I walked to the can, spat the capsule into the toilet and pissed on it. 

An hour later, when Castiel entered, I glued my eyes to the page. 

He stood at the foot of the bed and unzipped his pants. “Hey, gorgeous. You feeling any better?”

I felt less like I was going to throwing up and more like throttling him. 

Castiel loosened his tie and waited for me to acknowledge him. He removed it along with his shirt and scratched his navel. The working out, or starving himself, or whatever he’d been doing to get that V to direct the eyes to his crotch - it was working. 

The black Moschino jersey briefs were an alluring contrast to his cream-pale skin. It was impossible to stay mad at the guy with his wide, boyish eyes shining like larimar. He palmed his crotch and licked his lips.

“Is there a reason,” Castiel asked, using a finger to draw an imaginary circle around himself. “you know, other than the face, that it’s him and not me?”

There was nothing wrong with Castiel’s face. He was terribly attractive. And Dean preternatural hotness wasn’t the reason. It was like my modeling agent Simon always said, a lot of people are fun to look at. Precious few make good models. There were other men and women every bit as physically attractive as Dean. He was the only one who ever made me want to dive off a bridge and fly.

“Is it the whole bow-legged, cocky cowboy persona?” Cas asked. “Because I can do that, too.”

He hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his shorts and swaggered across the room. It was a pretty damn good impression and I cracked, in spite of my unspoken vow to remain in a shitty mood as long as I was stuck on that boat.

“Ah,” Castiel smiled, too. “The dimples.”

He walked up the bed on his knees. “I can’t even be offended,” he said. “The guy is hot. I’ve already told him he could get this.”

“Seriously?”

“Fuck, yeah. I mean, why mince words when you know what you want?”

I sat the book aside and made space for him to sit on my legs. “What did he say?”

“That he wasn’t into guys.”

“I already told you that, idiot.” 

But Dean didn’t knock him out or even mention it to me. I was about to request more intel when Castiel started massaging my chest.

“I’m wearing him down for you, kid. You’re welcome,” he said. “Just wait. Before you know it, he’ll be screwing us both.”

“Not likely.” 

Castiel flicked my nipple. “A boy can dream.”

“Would you shut up?”

“Fine, grumpy.” Castiel leaned over and latched on. 

I’d have pushed him away, but heat coursed through my bones and I burrowed my fingers into his thick hair, holding him in place. “Shit, Cas.”

His tongue slid warm over my collarbone and into the crook of my neck before he plastered me with wet kisses. In the name of simplifying my life, I’d vowed to quit fooling around with Castiel, but I also hadn’t been touched since Boomer. And this man knew every inch of me, skin to marrow.

He nuzzled my jawline, tugged my bottom lip with his teeth. There was no way to escape when I didn’t want to.  The scent of his sweat overpowered the cologne. A hint of our seafood dinner and the creme brûlée that followed lingered in his kiss.

Castiel stretched his body over mine and groaned as he strained for his own pleasure. I sucked in a loud breath and clutched his rolling hips, clenching my ass to rise into the swell and ebb of him.  

He propped on his elbows, mouth parted, but never stopped rolling. I soaked up the slide of his body and ignored the devotion in his gaze. Castiel tossed me a condom and flopped onto his stomach. He slathered lube on his hole and said, “Go crazy.”

I held him open and glided in slow and steady, welcomed home like a sailor from sea. “Jesus.” 

“Good?”

“Yeah.” I sank in to the hilt and paused to catch my breath.

Castiel said. “You don’t have to be gentle.” 

So, I wasn’t gentle. I pulled all the way out and rammed in, driving a gasp out of him. When he’d recovered, he panted, “Come on, Sam. I want you to fuck me.”

I held him down and worked his ass like it was punishment. 

“Do you want to fist me?”

Nothing Castiel said should ever be a surprise anymore. And yet, he never ceased to appall. “No.”

“I want you to.”

“I’m not going to do that, Cas.” 

I started to pull out and Castiel gripped my wrist. I knocked his hand away, disengaged, and tied off the condom. 

“All right,” Castiel rolled onto his side, still stroking himself. “You don’t have to shut down.”

“I’m tired, okay? It’s been a long day.”

“You’re scared of Carmen?” Castiel grinned. “What do you think she’s going to do, come down here and do the job herself? Come on.” 

I removed his outstretched arm, laid on the pillow and closed my eyes to let the erection pass. Castiel angled so he could jerk us both.

“Just fucking let me sleep, Cas.”

“Fine.” He let me go. “If you fall asleep first, I’m going to fist you.”

I kicked him onto the floor. He popped up with a serious expression for about two seconds before hollering like a Scotsman in battle as he dove onto the bed. 

He was wiry and wild, but I was stronger. It was only a matter of minutes before I pinned him on his back, panting and grinning like a kid.  “I’m not giving up, Sam.”

“I know.” 

“And I’m going to get your little girl,” he said. “Then you’ll really know.” 

I kissed his nose, rolled over and turned off the light on my side. Castiel did the same and snuggled under the soft sheets with his cold feet between my calves. The soft rhythm of the water lapping the boat lulled me into a deeper sleep than I’d known in months.


	51. Chapter 51

 

I was starching a blouse in the living room when Dean entered humming Silver Bells. He put down a package and peeled off his jacket. “You’re home?”

“Oh. Is that what this is?” I asked without meeting his eyes.

The words left my mouth tasting of bitter bitch, but it was too late to swallow them. I stiffened my spine as Dean stood on the other side of the board, setting his brown paper box in the path of my iron.

“Come on, Sammy. I don’t want to fight.”

If I didn’t fight, I’d cry and beg.

“Here.” He opened his container and presented a palm-sized angel-shaped cookie with red, green and silver sprinkles. It smelled as enchanting as it looked. “For you.” 

I turned my face away and snatched up my blouse before he spilled crumbs all over it. “I have a shoot tomorrow.” 

All I needed was to be all sugar-bloated or to get a pimple. 

“A bite, Sam. One bite.” 

Of course, Dean would offer me a cookie; he hated me.

I obliged his serpentine temptation and the buttery perfection melted before I could chew. I hummed around the cinnamon and nutmeg in the dough.

“Good, right?” He smiled. “Told you. 

I opened for another taste. 

“Nope.” Dean bit it instead. “You got a shoot tomorrow.” 

“Asshole.” 

He grinned and finished his angel. 

Peace offering effective, I hung up my blouse and wrapped my arms around my angel. “Is that where you’ve been all day? Buying pastries?” 

“No, actually,” he said. “I was sitting outside of your boy’s house the last few hours.” 

“My boy?”

“Yeah.” He reached behind his back and dropped a large hunting knife between the iron and the cookie box.

Pulse racing, I stepped away from him, staring at the weapon. It appeared clean, unused. Dean studied it, too.

“I was thinking I’d gut him,” he said. "It’s cowardly to shoot an unarmed man.” 

My mouth opened but nothing came out. 

“Then I was thinking that I’m losing my fucking mind.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, crossed the room, and sat on the radiator. “I’m not saying you’re driving me crazy, but this situation is… it’s not healthy.” 

He looked away, face contorted in what looked like agony. 

“Resolutions are bullshit, but a new year makes you think, right?” 

I didn’t know what to think. Dean paced new grooves into the already threadbare carpet.   

“You’re a kid,” he said. ”You’re just a kid. You can’t help being curious about what’s out there. I’ve already had more than my share of… partners. People need to fuck around. It’s good for you.” 

So, this was Dean’s version of Sex Ed. He continued patrolling like a tiger.

“And I’ve had these expectations of you that aren’t fair,” he continued. “That’s why you stopped with the pills. This is a huge step and it’s not something you should do for me. It’s got to be 100% what you want.” 

I nodded and moved to hug him, but Dean wasn’t finished. 

"I think we need to cool it, Sam.” 

I stopped breathing. 

“I don’t think it. I know it.” 

My gut sank lower than when I thought he had killed Castiel. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? First of all, I wouldn't cut out on the lease like that," Dean said. "Second, I’m here, for all of it. When you go under the knife, I’m your chicken soup guy, okay? And when you’re ready, we can--” 

“Dean.” 

“No, Sam. I don’t want to rush you, or control you, or any of that crap. You and me need to just be friends right now. That’s going to be better for the both of us.” 

I didn’t try to speak so I wouldn’t make a blubbering mess of myself. 

Dean cleared his throat and nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Cool.”

He sniffed and bit the head off the next angel. 

 

**_***_ **

 

The sewing took a bit longer than expected. I’d never worked with fleece or made a two-headed kangaroo pullover. That said, the project turned out as desired and should still fit for a few months, if Sprout didn’t grow like a weed. 

I tied the purple sweater with a purple bow, included a copy of Ferdinand the Bull, and shipped it FedEx. 

No matter what I did with my social media, or how many interviews Raff set up for me, there were no bites for my design work. The least I could do was make nice things for my family. 

 

 ** _***_**  

 

In fact, Dean looked quite fetching an embroidered necktie I made him for Christmas. It had little green race cars all over and he’d grinned like a kid when he opened it. We passed more than a few BMWs on our hike from the subway to the funky Chelsea address Matt texted. 

Dean let me fix his tie while we waited for Matt to answer the bell. “You nervous?”

“Little, I guess.”

I patted his stubbly cheek, but my pulse was elevated, too. I hadn’t yet explained to my father that Dean and I were no longer engaged. I’d tried to explain to Dean that Matt had no hard feelings about his dad and my mom. Still, it promised to be an interesting evening.

To lighten the air, I asked, “Ready to meet your first Jew?”

Dean winced. “I’ve said some truly stupid things to you, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have.”

My dad answered the door in a Hawaiian shirt with yellow parrots. A glimmer of his former fun-loving weirdo self twinkled in his wide smile. He’d even put on enough weight to no longer resemble a corpse. He clapped my back when we hugged and then softened it to a gentle rub. A sweet-savory aroma stirred up from behind him, reminding me that I’d not eaten since breakfast. 

“Dad, this place is awesome.” 

The sparsely furnished, but orderly living room was awash with natural light from the floor length windows. I couldn’t wait to hear what kind of work he’d gotten to afford this massive upgrade. 

But first, I stepped back and gestured an introduction. “Matt Cohen, this is Dean Winchester, who I’ve told you about. Dean, this is —“ 

a lunatic who launched a vicious right hook rather than shake hands.

I pulled Dean off my dad before he could punch him again. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Matt stumbled backward, clutching his nose. Dean puffed out his chest. 

“Splash?” Matt called out to me, but respected Dean's barrier.

“I always wondered what I do if I got to meet you.” Dean ran his hands over his head, shuffling like he’d explode if he stood still. “How dare you, man. I don’t know how Sam can stand to look at you after... You don’t deserve to call yourself a father and you definitely don’t need to be touching her.”

I anticipated the lunge and caught his arm before he could throw another jab. Dean flinched at first, but let me take his face between my hands and force him to look at me. “What is going on?” 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “I know what kind of fucking monster he is.” 

Clarity dawned, did not simplify things. It had been a hundred years since Dean asked whether my father had been inappropriate with me. Back then, I neither denied nor confirmed it, because I was trying to keep him from touching me. It was a useful misconception. 

I stood between them with a hand on my head, reaching for an explanation. 

While I grasped for words, a snake-faced devil walked up behind my father, put a hand on his back and leaned to check his wounds. Balthazar turned to me and hissed, “You need to leave.” 

Seeing him was a shock, but the intimate tenderness he showed my dad was nauseating. 

“What? No,” Matt protested. 

Balthazar’s glare was even colder than I’d remembered. “These animals are not welcome in my house.” 

I took a step back. 

“Splash, we can—” 

I shook my head and fled, stumbling down the steps and smashing my face against a brick wall. Salty warm copper gushed from my nose and flooded my mouth. Dean thudded after me, stripped and pressed his outer shirt to my face.

“That was the wrong reaction,” he said. "I’m sorry.”

I shook my head and held the flannel in place. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that my parents were competing on who could hook up with the bigger asshole.  

Mom had a baby with John Winchester.

Matt was fucking Balthazar.

Dean and I were besties.

The world had gone insane.

 

***

 

While Castiel placed our drink orders, I searched the postcard kiosk for a quirky image to send my mom. One in the second row grabbed my attention. It pictured a diverse group of people sitting in the grass under a perfectly clear blue sky. They were all smiling with their eyes closed. The caption read: Peace Begins Here. 

I stared at it for a long time, trying to account for the sudden chill of deja vu. When Castiel approached with our mugs, I stuffed the card into my messenger bag and accepted my hot cocoa with a nod. 

Boomer’s aftershave was a familiar spice when we hugged our greeting. Careless Whisper played softly in the background as we introduced our companions. 

Bringing Castiel was a mistake. He took both of Boomer’s hands and grinned. “Big fan. Huge.” 

Boomer thanked him. I scratched my eyebrow and looked away, but the star agreed to a selfie. 

As we all sat, Boomer reminded me to call him Mickey, but he didn’t look like a Mickey. He looked like a Jose or a Pablo, which made me feel like a racist. Boomer’s husband looked like a Mickey, but his name was Cole. 

I cradled the toasty cup between my hands, blowing on the steam and avoiding eye contact. Castiel was meant to be a buffer in case Boomer had called this meeting to arrange an off-screen hookup. Nice as he was, I’d never take that treacherous cock again. 

“What happened to your eye?”

“Hm? Oh,” I touched my still-tender cheek. “Fell down some stairs.”

Boomer’s eyes narrowed at Castiel. 

“You don’t actually think I’d hurt Sam?” Cas asked.

“I don’t know you, buddy. I’ve seen stranger things.”

“You think Sam would let me hurt her?, then, you don’t know Sam.”

“So, what’s the deal here. Are you trans?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s…”

“Complicated.” Castiel had acquired an occasionally annoying/sometimes helpful habit of completing my sentences.

“Honey, ain’t we all?” 

Cole grinned into his cup. 

“Listen,” Boomer said. “I called because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Castiel squeezed my thigh. His great vision was me and his porn hero in a threesome. If that topic was even discussed, I’d be out of the door.

Boomer’s mug clinked onto the table and he rested his elbow beside it. “People get into porn for a lot of different reasons.”

“I needed some quick money.”

“And that’s a valid reason to do most legal things. Except that porn is more personal than most legal things.” Boomer glanced at Cole whose face was frozen in a supportive smile. “Sam, a lot of people have these notions about what sex is, and what it means. Particularly between men. And I realize you’re not a man. But what’s important is how you feel about yourself sexually. And what I saw on that set was a kid in distress.”

I wiped my hair behind my ear but didn’t argue.  

“I don’t ever want to disrupt someone’s joy of sex,” Boomer took my hand. “Because that’s the exact opposite of why I started this work. Now, if you still need to make a quick buck--”

“She doesn’t,” Castiel interrupted. “Ever again.”

“There are less invasive, less public ways for a woman as beautiful and unique as you are to do that.”

“Ways, such as?” Now, Castiel leaned his elbow on the table. 

It was such a bad idea to bring him out in public.

“For example, if you like to travel and meet new people,” Boomer spoke directly to me. “You might consider escort work.”

Castiel’s eyes popped wide. “Sam would kill at that. You haven't seen her fuck.”

“It doesn’t always end in sex,” Boomer said. “If that’s what happens, it’s between you and the client. Now, I run a site that is strictly male for male, but if you’re ever open to presenting that way, there’s a lot of opportunities.”

“Wow.” Castiel sat back in his chair, reveling in the new information.

“Ladyboys isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, but the guys who dig it will pay through the gills for someone as pretty and hung as you.”

Castiel nudged me. 

“Is it legal?” I asked.

“Not in the States, which is why I run my site through Mexico City,” Boomer glanced at his silent companion. “Escorting is more intimate than porn. More personal. More demanding, and more rewarding, if you ask me. It’s mostly customer service, but it’s also a perfect way to explore your sexuality.”

I casually searched the cafe to be sure no one overheard these men discussing putting me up for sale.

The rest of the conversation was fairly normal except for when Castiel asked Boomer’s opinion whether his dick was big enough for porn. Boomer graciously declined to examine but told Castiel he was attractive and should pursue it if he was interested. 

Boomer and Cole showed us a thousand pictures of their cat. We discovered that Boomer and I had design in common. He’d done some runway work and even had a spread in Vogue. Cole was content to let Boomer answer all the questions while I spent most of the time trying to get Castiel to shut up. We parted ways with kisses to each cheek. 

When those two had left the building, Castiel turned to me and grinned. “Pretty and hung.” 

“No.” 

“Come on, Sam.”

“Castiel, I’m not going to be a whore.”


	52. Chapter 52

**_Shanti shanti om om om_ **

I sat cross-legged on the mat with my hands arranged in the suggested mudra: thumbs hooked together, right hand over left for males (yang energy), left hand over right for females (yin). I let my hands do as they pleased. 

Internally, I raised my root chakra (AKA pelvic floor. A gynecologist named Arnold Kegel suggested this exercise for women, but few men know would benefit them, too). When I released the exhale, my entire body was lighter. Mind clearer. The hour of meditation flowed past like a serene river carrying away the old weight and clutter of my life, if only for a while.

I’d followed that postcard from the cafe like a breadcrumb to the monthly meetings in a Manhattan office building. Already, after the second time, I felt like a different person. The other plain-clothed meditators bowed their respect and departed, but I lingered until only a few white-clad disciples remained. They surrounded their leader, an older man with walnut-brown skin, like bees protecting a hive. 

But I wasn’t ready to leave. The sense of well-being I associated with this place, this practice, and the man they called the Elder Brother was like nothing I’d ever experienced. My body floated of its own volition toward the small group of long-haired, bearded men. They congregated around their Master, blocking a clear view of his face. 

“Can I just —“ 

“No, I’m afraid not.” The largest man was my height and wide as an ocean between me and my new teacher. 

I ached to simply touch the man’s hand and thank him.

“Let him pass, Brother Cain.” The Elder Brother spoke quietly with a slight southern lilt. 

I’d learned his name, Rufus Turner, on Wikipedia. There were also sites denouncing him, but I didn’t click on those. All I needed to know was that his method of silent self-reflection made me slightly less of a desperate wreck. 

The Elder Brother gently pushed to the front of his clan. Instinctively, I kneeled and touched my forehead to his hand. 

“I am not the Pope.” He chuckled and helped me stand. 

I bowed my head and blubbered, “I just wanted to thank you for your teachings.” 

“You possess a rare faith and a rare soul,” the Elder Brother patted the hand the still hadn’t let his go. “What can I do for you that you can’t do for yourself?”

I huffed. Where should I start? Dean, Eva, Castiel, my parents. It was all broken. 

“Simpler question for you; what does your heart require?” 

“Peace,” I said, and marveled at the inspired answer. 

The Elder Brother nodded and folded his hands over his belly. “The chaos around you does not dictate what is within you.” 

 

*** 

 

The trees in Ryland Park were in bud. Their sweet early blossoms invited me to enjoy a few fragrant inhales before my father tapped my shoulder. He ducked his head to the opposite side, grinning like a kid. “Hey. You falling asleep?” 

I was calling on the Elder Brother for strength, but I hadn’t told anyone about my practice, because I knew they’d laugh. Instead, I said, “Hey, Dad.” 

“Dad again? That’s nice.” He sat beside me and offered a strawberry Starburst. 

They were my favorites when I was nine. I’d quit synthetic sugar but I thanked him for the sweet gesture. 

“Where’s your bodyguard?”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” I closed my eyes, drained the poison judgment from my mind and started over. “How are you, Dad?” 

“Doing okay,” he said. “But you’re kind of giving me whiplash. What’s with the baggy jeans? Last time I saw you, it was leggings and a fluffy pink sweater.” 

“My sweater was purple. And it was not fluffy.” 

I monitored my emotions: no meanness in stating the facts. 

“Well, pardon me,” he said. “Your old man has a hard time keeping up.”

“I’ve always been this way.”

“I don’t know. Seemed like you always wanted to wear skirts.”

“You only noticed the skirts.” I crossed my legs and silently forgave my father’s trespasses. 

He snickered at a dog twisting into the air to catch a Frisbee. If I could just let go of the hurt, we’d be fine. But I couldn’t let go. I needed to know. 

“I have to ask you something, Dad. If you’re gay, or bi or whatever, why were you always against me?”

“I was never against you, Sam.” His hand landed warm on my arm. “I didn’t want you pigeonholed. When you make sweeping declarations about yourself that’s all anybody can see. 

I was a little older than you are now when I came out, because I sincerely thought I was gay. But really, I was just in love with Balthazar. He was my first … everything. And he was all I could see for a long time.” 

I bit my tongue to let my father finish, but my mind compared his story to me and Dean. 

“I’m not proud of it, but I started dating behind his back, just to be sure that I knew how to be around other people. 

When I chose your mother, I didn’t just lose Balthazar. I lost a lot of friends. A lot of people who said they accepted me as I was. And maybe they did, as long as what I was fit who they wanted me to be. Maybe wouldn’t have been so judgmental if I wasn’t vice president of the fucking club.

And they couldn’t accept me as an ally. That wasn’t enough. In their eyes, I was a traitor. A liar. 

I was trying to give you time to figure out who you are before you glue on a label you can’t just peel off.”

“So, you’re —“

“It doesn’t matter, Splash. The labels are for everybody else. Labels don’t make you who you are. As long as you live and love authentically, it doesn’t matter what you call yourself.” 

He scrubbed his face with his palms like he was trying to remove decades of grime from his sagging skin. “I didn’t want you to have any regrets.” 

“Do you have regrets?” 

“A million of them.” He sighed. “But not your mom. She and I made the coolest kid on earth.” 

“Balthazar?” My skin prickled cold just saying his name. 

“I regret lying to him,” Dad said. “I regret hurting him. I’m grateful that he’s giving me a second chance. You know, he’s a lot like you. Incredibly kind person, and crazy smart.” 

I’d even witnessed that side of him when he was with Ruby. 

So, if Balthazar was good to my dad, even if he’d been shit to me, did I have a right to dismantle my father’s happiness? It was the kind of mindbending question to ask a guru. 

My dad threw his arm over my shoulder. I rested my head on his chest, awkward as the angle was because of our height difference. He kissed my forehead and started humming Happy Together while the pigeons cooed background harmonies. 

“Daddy, why didn’t you raise me Jewish?”

He shrugged. “It always seemed so arbitrary to me. Why should you assume your grandparents’ faith? I mean, I know it’s community and culture and all that, but religion is an incredibly personal thing. You ought to decide that for yourself.” 

While I was in that random and loose state of mind, I let slip, “Balthazar’s a creep.”

“I know you don’t like him, but after you, that creep is the person I love most in the world,” he said. “You’re going to have to make peace with that.”

 

***

 

Something glorious was happening in that pot. I held my nose over the steam and fanned the cocktail of aromas towards my face. As I slid the diced tomatoes into the simmering onion, garlic, and fresh basil, I looked up in time to catch Dean shaking hot sauce into his concoction - which is exactly what he had been doing when I started chopping tomatoes.

I caught his hand. “Whoa, cowboy.”

“Lil more.”

”Sauce, Dean. Not lava.” 

“Come on, Sammy.” 

“Come on, nothing. No.”

His smirk was unbearable.

Adorable. Kissable.

I let him go. 

The Elder Brother had spoken about the evils of desire and attachment. I’d been focusing my daily meditations on releasing Eva and relinquishing Dean. Letting go of my dream of being some big designer. 

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I could get through an entire day without feeling like my insides were on the outside. Like breathing was a chore. 

There were actually days when I felt almost good.

 I hip bumped Dean out of the way. “I want to eat some, too, firebreather.”

“You just need to toughen up.” His hands wrapped around my waist.

I froze. A warm rush thrilled through my bones. He hadn’t touched me that way in months. It was all fist bumps and high fives. 

Now, it was vicious tickling. I drew in my elbows like a chicken, ducking and striving to escape while Dean chased me around the apartment with some kind of cooking utensil. I couldn’t see what it was, because I was running and screaming, “No. No, Dean, please.”

He laughed and clamored over the sofa to corner me by the front door. He clicked the tongs and his fingers like a crab.

“Truce, okay? Truce.” I held my hands out to protect myself.

He dropped the tongs and pinned me against the wall with his hands shackling my wrists and a thigh between my legs. We both stilled, breathing each other’s breath. 

Dean stepped back and fixed his shirt. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” I said, pressing my back to the wall to keep from jumping on him. “Bros, right? 

“Yeah.” 

He wiped a strand of hair from my face, chuckled and returned to the hot plate. I banged my skull against the wall to knock some sense back into it. A breath in, breath out. 

I would chill and just enjoy his company. Not ‘being together’ had removed most of the stress between us. It was a good thing.

We made it to the table without further incident. Over salad, I listened to a harrowing tale of replacing the engine on a forty-year-old Ford truck.

“Hey, when was the last time you did any kind of sketching or drawing?” Dean asked around a slog of beer.

“I don’t know. Had a lot on my mind.”

“You ought to do it,” he said. “For the fun of it. Peace of mind, you know.”

There was that word again. Peace. I pinned my hair behind my ear.

“Hey, no pressure. Just don’t want you to get so caught up in the modeling that you forget what you came out here for.”

I put down my fork. This man was still so painfully beautiful. Paler than when I first met him. Like always, eating too fast to keep his food from getting cold. I rested my mouth against my knuckles, pinning lips shut to keep in confessions of love he didn’t want to hear.

“You okay?”

I smiled and nodded. I could do this - be his friend. Adore him silently. Suffer in peace.

One bite of pasta with Dean’s sauce and my mouth flew open, releasing bursts of volcanic air, nose hairs aflame. The jerk across the table laughed his ass off.

Desperate, I wiped my tongue with the napkin. Finally, I downed the cup of milk Dean brought. It was like spitting on a forest fire. 

He patted my back and never stopped cackling. I couldn’t even pull it together enough to call him any of the bad names that danced on my smoldering tongue.

Dean rubbed small circles into my shoulder, wiped away the flow of tabasco-induced tears and kissed my cheek. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you?”

If that’s what it took to put that tender warmth back in his voice, I would die a thousand violent deaths. He smoothed my hair, staring at my lips.

And the phone rang

Whoever it was, would be murdered in their sleep.

The phone went on ringing and Dean backed away like he’d been rescued from eternal doom. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“You gonna get that?” he asked and sat back down.

“No.”

But it started up again as soon as it ended, and did so a third time.

Even before crossing the room, I knew who it was. Castiel better be dead or dying.

“You busy?” He asked.

“Yeah. Kind of.” Which is why I didn’t answer the phone, numbnuts.

“Well, I have some news,” he said. “Are you sitting—“

“Castiel, what do you want?”

Why did I say that name out loud?

Dean started clearing the table and I turned my back to him, lowering my voice.

Castiel cleared his throat. “If you wanted to go, first thing in the morning, to pick up Eva, my mom would be cool with us using the jet.”

 


	53. Chapter 53

We passed a community college billboard that promised: Your Future is Waiting.

The wind whipped warm into my face, and I didn’t bother trying to keep my hair from flying everywhere. Dean turned on his music and started crowing along. Besides a little humming in the shower, he rarely sang anymore, and I’d been so raveled in my own tragedy that I hadn’t seen how he’d diminished.

New York City was no place for a country boy. The breakneck pace and the anonymity were corroding his soul. But out on the open road, he grinned and yodeled along with Hank, elbow hanging out of the window, fingers tapping out the rhythm on his gear shift. He slipped into fifth and held out his hand for me to hold.

Liquid joy coursed into my fingers and up my arm. The boy I fell in love with was back behind the wheel.

He noticed me watching, smiled and turned down the music. “You were going to tell me what the hell happened. Thought it was going to be years in court.”

I shrugged at my gift horse, but refused to look at its rotting teeth.

“You think Novak paid them off?”

“Probably.” Or threatened them or something worse. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Dean’s hand was warm in mine and although Loretta Lynn wasn’t my favorite, it was impossible not to smile when he was screeching at the top of his lungs about being a coal miner’s daughter.

 

***

 

I awoke to the snap of the driver’s door shutting and wound up the window as a shirtless man scuttled past the car. A toothless woman in a stained slip leaned over the balcony. She railing dropped cigarette ashes to the crumbling asphalt. 

Dean opened the door again, smiling, “Hey, sleeping beauty. Welcome to downtown Dayton.”

I clutched my bag to my chest as we approached the hotel.

“That’s one tall bitch, hombre,” somebody shouted, but faces were concealed in shadow and smoke thick enough to taste. 

The stairwell reeked of fresh pee on old pee. All around, seedy, faceless night people laughed and shouted over a booming competition of rap and rock. 

Our room was every bit as awful as the exterior. Stains on the cinder block walls. Stains on the ancient carpet. No linens to cover the cigarette burns in the mattress. 

One bed.

Dean had been sleeping on our sofa ever since his friendship pact. The bright side was dealing with my morning wood and midnight boners without disturbing him. The downside was everything else. 

But this room had no sofa.

Dean stood by the door, scratching his head. “It’s what they had.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, you won’t.”

“So, how do you wanna do this?”

Foolish question. I wanted Dean Winchester on all fours begging for me.

Since that wasn’t likely, I shrugged out of my cardigan and hung it over the back of a hobbling chair. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“Right,” Dean said and watched me undress down to blue camisole and matching panties.

I subdued the urge to peel those off as well. 

He’d carried in a couple of scratchy, Army-issue blankets from his trunk. We spread those over the bed and I crawled between them. Dean cleared his throat and sat, wordlessly removing his boots. His belt clinked open, jeans scraped down his legs, shirts ruffled over his head.

When the last remaining light in the room was extinguished a slight breeze brushed my back as Dean climbed in and very gallantly did not breach the imaginary line between us.

The only thing I wanted more than to feel was to respect his wishes.

I turned my back, folded my hands into a mudra over my svadhisthana chakra and began to recite a supplication for deep, sweet peace so I could get some sleep.

Dean’s hand slid, clammy and warm over my hip. “This all right?” 

It wasn’t all right. It was Heaven and Hell.

“You excited?”

“Terrified,” I confessed and rolled toward him, although it was too dark to see.

“You’re going to be great.”

“Vote of confidence based on…”

“My crystal ball.” The smile on Dean’s voice was contagious. 

His mouth on my cheek was an unfair flare. 

“I love you, ya know?” he said and kissed me, soft and patient as the first time.

None of Castiel’s urgency. Just tender passion that sent a flare through my body. 

Dean took my face between his hands. “Sammy, please. Just do it. For me, for your kid.”

“I love you, too,” I said and kissed the beautiful fool to shut him up.

Our legs slotted together. I curled into Dean’s arms and trembled as if there was mortal danger beyond them. He drew my knee over his hip so we lay belly to belly with our erections separated by two thin layers: silk and cotton.

I gasped in his warm blend of sweat and shampoo. He plastered my neck with kisses, declarations and pleas, breathed hot on my ear before rolling the lobe between his lips.

“Dean, God.”

“Sam, please.” 

He rolled on top of me, leaving no space between us, and no recourse but to spread my thighs and cling as if he would lift us both into flight.

Dean groaned and strained and thrust against me. He crested and crashed, and I rose and fell to meet every perfect twist of his body. Begging and praising without words. Praying and straining until he, then I attained nirvana.

He collapsed onto my chest, chuckling through his uneven breath. “That’s going to be messy.”

I laughed and buried my face in the crook of his salty shoulder.

 

*******

  

The Mills’ neighbor’s lawn mower hollered as I stepped from the car and swept my braid swept over the shoulder of a chestnut-colored sweater dress. My outfit was diametrical opposition to the rough brew of testosterone and adrenaline bubbling beneath my skin. 

I shivered, despite the mid-April sunshine, broke into a sweat and wiped my palms down my dress. Dean triple checked the car seat, then we walked to the front door side by side. Our knuckles brushed, but we’d already discussed how to play this. I twiddled my fingers against my thighs while he rang the bell and touched my shoulder. 

A silver-haired man opened the door: Pastor Dwight from Westboro Baptist. He cast a stern eye at Dean, then turned his furrowed brow to me. Looking us over again, he offered his hand to Dean. “Sam Cohen?”

“I’m Sam,” I said. “This is my brother, Dean.”

Dean shook with the old man, but the offer was not extended to me. “You’re Eva’s…”

“Parent.” I nodded. “Yes.”

The confusion on his face disintegrated into horror. 

“Well,” he took half a minute to cough the phlegm from his throat. “I’m sure you can imagine the Mills require an agent of the Lord to shepherd them through this difficult time of loss.” 

I didn’t care what they needed; I just wanted this behind me.

Jody Mills’ eyes narrowed and then widened when I entered. I almost pitied her. I’d only ever presented as male to them, so this gargantuan woman strolling into their living room must have been a nasty shock.

Not my problem.

She and her husband gawked at the preacher as if waiting for him to call lightning from the clouds.

Eva sat on the rug banging a mallet on a plastic xylophone. She was already so much bigger than the first/last time I saw her - just under a year earlier. No more patchy strands; her curly hair was darker than mine. Still-hazel eyes curious but unconcerned as I kneeled beside her and tapping a plum-colored nail on the highest note of her instrument.

“Hey, Eva.” I could barely hear myself.

She banged the toy.

“We’re going to go now, sweetie, okay?” 

As I lifted her from the floor, she leaned back for a good look at my face. Jody Mills scurried across the room and tucked herself under her husband’s arm.

I swung the diaper bag over my shoulder and stole a whiff of Eva’s scent as we rushed toward the door. Her cheek was soft and warm as I remembered. 

She swiveled to look at the Mills and Jody hid her face in her husband’s chest.

“Before you go,” Pastor Dwight spoke. “I’d like to say a prayer over the child.”

“No.” I brushed past him. “Thank you.”

I’d never been more grateful for Dean's hand on my back. The Mills and their preacher followed us onto the porch.

“Wait. Please.” Jody clutched my arm. “Please. You said you wouldn’t do this.”

“She’s my daughter.”

I didn’t pull away from the woman and she didn’t let me go. 

“Strawberries,” she said. “No strawberries. And front to back, remember that.”

“It’s all in the letter, right?”

“No, but this is important.” Her voice broke.

Her husband pulled her back, his mouth pinched tight. She hugged herself with one arm, clasping a hand over her mouth. Dean glared with stony faced intensity between the pastor and Sean Mills, landing cold on the latter.

Eva began to fidget in my arms. She reached for Mrs. Mills and instinctively, I leaned away. The muscles in Sean Mills shifted his stance and reached behind his back. Instantly, he raised both hands into the air as his wife shrieked and shrank behind him.

The pastor showed his palms, as well.

“Go get in the car, Sam,” Dean commanded.

My heart slammed against the wall of my chest before my brain properly registered that he was holding a gun on the Mills and their questionable man of God.

Eva whimpered and struggling to climb out of my arms.

Sean Mills twitched, but the pastor held him back.

“Yeah. Just try something, asshole,” Dean warned. “Sam.”

I didn’t look over my shoulder as I ran and buckled the screaming child into her seat. I slid in the back, patting her tummy, murmuring nonsense that wasn’t comforting either of us.

“Mama! Mama!” Eva howled and fought the straps with every ounce of energy in her little body.

“Eva, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby. I promise,” I said, cringing as I waited for shots to ring out.

Dean leaped into the car and tossed the weapon on the passenger’s seat. The tires screeched over the pavement. My gut clenched beneath a too-fast pulse as I gripped the door handle and yanked on a seatbelt. The hairs on my neck bristled as I chanced a final look back at the Mills.

The was standing in the middle of the street with a pistol trained on our car. His wife ran and shoved him as he fired an errant shot. 

“Decent people don’t just let go of their kids,” Dean said, still driving like we were being chased. “Not for money. Not for nothing.”

“Is that why you wanted to come?” My voice barely made it out of my parched throat and I had to unbuckle and lean forward to be heard over Eva’s screaming.

“I wanted to be there for you, but … yeah,” he said. “I guess I had a feeling. You’re in the breadbasket, Sam. This ain’t New Yorkers. Kansans ain’t gonna just roll over for some court order. Not even for a million dollars.”

“You provoked him.”

“That guy was packing just like I was.”

“All I saw was your gun.”

“If you’d have seen his first, it would have been too late, Little Girl.”

I sat back. My daughter was inconsolable. My - whatever Dean was to me - was a criminal.

Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

That little girl cried herself sick resulting in a crash course: changing vomit-drenched clothing in the backseat of a spotless, classic American car while its owner breaths down your neck about it staying that way.

I removed everything with my fingertips, placing the items in a white plastic bag which I then held at arm’s length for Dean to carry to the Walgreen’s trash can.

Eva shrieked for another hour before she exhausted herself to sleep. Her puffy eyes were closed, but her little body kept making these pitiful, fitful, involuntary dry heaving spasms.

My awesome first day of parenting. Way to go, selfish freak.

I’d wanted a baby, why?

Would this go down as the biggest mistake in my life?

It’s not like I could take her back.

Could I?

Or maybe I should have done everything differently.

Dr. Nussbaum, the child psychologist who’d treated Castiel for a decade and a half, had said it was best to just take Eva and start fresh. Kids her age are young and resilient: the gospel according to Nussbaum.

I’d read a dozen parenting books, joined online support groups, meditated, and prayed. I still wound up helpless, beside a miserable child, chewing on my thumbnail and wishing I’d used a condom.


	54. Chapter 54

Dean slid back into the driver’s seat and said, “In case the little devil wakes up in the same mood.”

He handed me a brown paper bag that crinkled as I revealed a bottom shelf whiskey. 

“Are you crazy?” 

Dean shrugged. “Me and Adam survived it.”

Dosing the baby turned out not to be necessary. She hung like a sack of onions over Dean’s shoulder as we entered a vortex of meaningless chatter in a middle American Denny’s. I dashed into the bathroom and an older lady gazed up the length of me. I get that in jeans and a hoodie. I’m a tall person; people stare.

I needed five minutes with my head in my hands in my private stall. Then, I washed my hands, splashed my face with cold water and stared in the mirror until I started to feel less like a kidnapper.

Another woman entered as I was blotting away the blur of mascara from my cheeks. She was pretty cute, and she was checking out my ass. I’d never been approached by a woman when I was dressed as one.

It’s not like I could take her up on any proposition with Dean right outside. Would I even want to? It was no time for that, but she was pretty nice looking and maybe she even had a rubber. Then, of course, if she was into me like that, she wouldn’t be expecting my anatomy, would she?

Was I obvious? Did I look like a dude in drag? 

Anyway, she was into it. I could always just make out with her, feel her up a little. I hadn’t been with a girl in a long time.

The woman pointed. “You’ve got a run.”

I contorted and glanced down my stockings. Sure enough, a fray began at my knee and disappeared into my ankle-high boots.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

When she closed her stall door, I dropped my face into my palm. I’d already mentally screwed that chick and she was just trying to be friendly. 

Dean’s fault. If he wasn’t such a frigging prude, my mind wouldn’t stray. I wouldn’t be daydreaming about humping every pole I passed.  Meanwhile,  he was probably spoon-feeding spiked apple juice to my kid. I trashed the paper towel and returned to the table.

Eva was still asleep in Dean’s arms and those two had quite the fan club. All across the restaurant, women smiled and whispered. One with her chin on her fist audibly sighed as I passed.

The waitress dropped off a paper placemat and three crayons: green, red and blue, and lingered by the table. I settled into the bench across from everyone’s darlings, and the woman suddenly remembered that she had other tables to serve.

“Wow.” 

“I’ve always been popular,” Dean said. “But this is… something else.”

A greasy smear from someone else’s breakfast rubbed off on my fingers when I picked up the menu. Still, I hid behind it until I was sure no traces of jealousy would show on my face. “Well, I guess it’s hard to believe that a guy like you could be a family man.”

“What does that mean?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “Guy like me?”

“I don’t know. All gorgeous and macho.”

“And what is macho?”

“A man’s man, okay?” I put down the menu. I had no appetite anyway.

“Why is that a problem?”

“You don’t take any issue with gorgeous.”

My joke didn’t make it off the ground.

“What are you trying to say, Sam?”

Most of Dean’s fan club had awoken from their daydreaming.  I pointed to a pretty blonde with a stack of pancakes. “You go and take your pick. Any one of them.” 

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. They’ve all got pussies. So, just help yourself.”

I shoved the paper-napkin wrapped fork and knife away before I could weaponize them. My damn stomach was already eating itself.

“What are we even arguing about, Sam?”

I crossed my arms and watched a sixteen-wheeler park.

“Hey.” Dean leaned forward as far as he could with an arm full of baby girl. “I have been faithful since the day I told you I love you. I don’t want anyone else. I want you, the moment you’re ready. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do I need to stand up and make an announcement about it?”

He started to stand.

“Stop it,” I said. “You’re going to wake the baby.”

I still couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t stand the earnestness or the relentless perfection.

“I’m not some kind of animal that’s got to screw everything I see. Not when I know what I want. Understand?”

“Y’all ready?” O ur waitress flipped open her notepad. 

When I said I wasn’t hungry, Dean shook his head. “Eat something, Sam.” 

“Eggs and toast, please.” 

“I’ll have the special with extra bacon.”

“And for the little one?” The waitress’ head tilted as she smiled at Eva, or at Dean. 

Likely both. 

Dean returned the smile, but only briefly. “She’ll just eat off our plates. Thanks.”

“Course, honey.”

He winced, but how could he help being a charmer? Of course, all the girls were sighing; I was sitting across from Paradise.

I used Eva’s crayons to sketch my loves on the back of the paper placemat. Dean stuck out his tongue at one point, but mostly remained a good model. When the waitress returned with his tea, she peeked over my shoulder. “Holy crap, honey, that’s amazing. Hey, Myra! Come look at this.”

Another waitress joined us to admire my artwork. A child in the booth behind me leaned over to see. 

“You ought to let her draw Marigold.” The waitress nudged me with her elbow. “She’s got the prettiest little dog. How much would you charge for something like that?”

Dean nodded an encouragement, but I had no idea what to answer.

“Hundred dollars,” he tossed out a number.

The waitresses didn’t run off screaming. They looked at each other, bobbing their heads like it reasonable. 

“But we ain’t from here,” Dean explained, affecting drawl that would bewitch the pants off any woman within earshot. “That’s just what she would charge.”

As they walked away, I could already hear what he was thinking. If folks in Topeka would pay a hundred dollars for a crayon sketch, the right New Yorkers would solve our rent problems.

 

*******

 

Since there was still an hour before checkout, Dean lay Sleeping Beauty on one of the queen beds. She’d nibbled from both of our plates, like he said, sniffled a little and fallen back asleep. 

I’d done a pencil sketch from a picture of Myra’s dog, for free. Three separate people had approached our table to call us a beautiful family. 

I sighed over my beautiful family and crossed the room to take my baby’s Daddy in my arms. Dean tensed and stared at the wall.

“Hey, look,” he said. “I’m going to give you ladies that bed.”

“We could just build a pillow fort around her.” 

“Sammy, I …” It was never a good sign when Dean fidgeted. “Last night was… I had a moment of weakness.”

“Weakness?” I was suddenly shivering. “It’s weakness for you to be with me?”

“I’m always going to be with you, Sam. God, do we got to do this thirty times a day?” He threw up his arms.  “I don’t want to feel your… thing when I’m trying to make love to you. All right?” 

“My thing?” Was he kidding? It was like living with an infant. I gripped my cock and jutted my hips at him. “You mean my dick **.** It’s part of who I am, Dean.”

“It would be so easy to let it go and fully embrace who you are.”

“You’re not listening to me. I’ve said this so many times. I’m not always only a girl, okay? Maybe I’m not ever a girl. I’m some sort of… other-fucking thing.” I shook and spat out the words. “God, you’re making me so crazy. Why don’t you just stay here in your fucking breadbasket? I don’t need you in New York, clouding my judgment, distracting me from what I’m trying to do.”

“Which is what? Be some kind of porn star?”

“Fuck you, okay. I pay my way, don’t I? You know what? I’ll have Castiel come get us.” I marched toward the door and Dean grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me.” His fingers tightened. “And don’t throw that shit with Castiel in my face.”

“Let go of me.” I easily broke his hold. 

The slightest shove sent Dean stumbling back, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed. I bunched the fabric of my dress, gripping it tight in both hands to keep from attacking - whether to kiss or kill. In the corner of my eyes, there was a flicker of movement.

I turned in time to shout and dive, but not to catch Eva before she careened off the chair she’d climbed into. Her little body thudded to the floor, head slamming against the steel feet of the table, but she did not cry out.

She lay there with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Chest still. Mouth open, but not breathing.

“No no no no no.” My body flooded cold as I started to lift her.

“Wait. No, Sam,” Dean called out. “Don’t move her.”


	55. Chapter 55

 

“No, ma’am. I don’t think she is breathing.”

Somehow, Dean managed to sound so calm while I was the useless, bawling wreck in the background of that 911 call. 

Eva sucked in a loud breath. I never would have believed my heart would soar at her screaming. She squirmed and rolled onto her side before sitting up. I scooped her into my arms, sobbing along.

“Sam.” 

Dean’s eyes went wide as my fingers slipped in wet warmth at the back of Eva’s neck.

***

  

“Eva Cohen.”

Less than an hour after triage, Eva was back to crying and whimpering for Mama. Whenever I tried to hold her close, she screeched and struggled. Dean got the same reaction.

The middle-aged male nurse took a cursory glance at him before offering to sedate Eva. “Just a chloral hydrate. Otherwise, the doctor isn’t going to be able to work.”

I bit my lip and nodded. 

The nurse, Doug, offered pink liquid on a plastic spoon. Despite all of his cooing, tickling and a red clown nose, we wound up having to restrain Eva while he swiftly squeezed the medicine into her howling cheek. I would have asked how long he’d been nursing, but it wasn’t the time or place for casual conversation.

“Has she vomited or shown any signs of disorientation?”

“No.”

He scribbled on his clipboard and slipped from the room. Even as she cried, I hugged Eva close to warm us both from the chill air.  Once she was asleep in my lap, I lowered my head and tried to meditate to keep from crumbling.

Doug returned and while he was taking Eva’s vitals, spoke to Dean, “Pretty little girl. Takes after your wife.”

Dean didn’t correct him as Doug clipped a small beeping machine onto Eva’s finger. Then he shaved the back of her scalp. 

Another hour before the doctor slathered an acrid smelling antiseptic onto Eva’s wound and patched it with a liquid bandage. As she exited the room, another woman entered, accompanied by two burly security guards. 

This new woman offered her card and introduced herself as Kate Flores, Child welfare. “And you’re Sam Cohen?”

I nodded, tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth. 

“A member of the staff reached out to us because the child… Eva,” she read from a clipboard. “Appears to be under some distress.”

“She’d just cracked her fucking skull open.” Dean stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’d be distressed, too.”

“And you are?”

Ms. Flores’ guard bristled, obviously itching for the order to cast Dean from the room.

“I’m Sam’s --”

“My brother,” I interrupted before he could ‘help’ anymore. 

“I would appreciate it,” Ms. Flores continued. “If you could provide some proof of your relationship to the child, because from what I understand, she responds to you as if she’s in fear.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Dean.” I touched his arm, but it was too late.

He was already in Ms. Flores’ face shouting, “What normal parents travel with their children’s birth certificate?”

A security guard asked him to back down and Dean decked him. The second man tried to usher him out of the room and took a punch for his trouble, too. I dropped my face into my hand. Ultimately, they managed to pin Dean’s arms behind his back and dragged him out. 

His voice echoed into the room. “Would you be asking for all this if she were a woman?”

“I’m sorry. My… He’s…” I shook my head, trying to rattle loose the right words.

The social worker folded her arms. “No one here is concerned with your gender, Ms. Cohen. Our concern is with Eva.”

My tongue and guts tied themselves in a series of knots.

Eva lay on the gurney, unconscious. They were going to take her from me again. And maybe they should. Dean was probably going to prison, and maybe he should. I exhaled loudly, assumed the mudra and begged for peace, help, or whatever the Elder Brother could spare.

When my eyes opened, I gave Ms. Flores’ Castiel’s phone number. 

 

***

  
My mother stepped onto the front porch wearing a tired smile and Sprout in the kangaroo sweater I’d made. It was too warm outside for that, but the sight of them liquified some of the lead in my bones.

Dean suggested we roll down the windows and let Eva keep sleeping.

I eased my door shut and took long strides to the house, nearly crushed my family as I collapsed into a blubbering heap on my mother’s shoulder.

“I can’t do this, Mom. I almost killed her.”

She gave me a gentle, firm push and wiped away a tear.

My chin pressed to my hollowed out chest. “I’m going to take her back.”

“I told you to leave her there, but you didn’t listen,” my mother said. “Do you know why? Because you’re a stubborn little cuss. Which is the same reason you have this.” 

She traced a finger across my collarbone where beneath the fabric a two-inch scar was burnished into my skin.

“Your dad told you not to climb that fence. And you had to try it anyway,” she said. “Kids fall, Sam.”

“That little jackass spent more time on his ass than his feet.”

My heart stuttered. I hadn't seen John Winchester on the broken porch swing. As the man approached, my lungs ached with smoke from his cigarette.

The corner of his mouth curled and he flicked the butt into the bushes. “They’ll let anybody have a kid, won’t they?”

“Shut up, Johnny.” Mom slapped his chest, but Winchester was just getting warmed up.

“What happened to that one?”

Dean stood petrified in the grass like a livid garden statue, fists curled, jaw clenched. His left eye was swollen and dark from Eva’s hospital stint.

“Let me guess. Got fresh and you put his lights out?” John Winchester chuckled. “Well, you can't blame him for wanting to know what’s under that skirt.”

“I swear to God, John,” my mother growled. “If you don’t knock it off --”

“Just fucking with him, mare.” John’s punch to my arm wasn’t going to bruise, but it burned like an acid brand. “Boy who walks around in a dress ought to be able to take a little ribbing.”

Dean took my side, hovering shadow-close. I held out an arm to hold him back. John Winchester’s head fell back and he let out a loud cackle. 

“Come on.” The old man lowered his stance and raised his dukes. “Ain’t had a good scrap in too long.”

“Well, you two take it on away from here.” Mom turned to go back into the house.

Palpable heat rolled off Dean. There probably weren’t any words that would calm him. He’d been boiling like a with a cork in its spout. Fighting with his father might actually be cathartic. I wouldn’t mind shoving a boot up the old man’s ass myself.

While I was worked on an unconvincing argument for why Dean shouldn’t brawl with his father in the front yard like a pair of roosters, Adam barreled around the side of the house, tromped up the steps, nudged me aside and tackled his brother against the door.

The attack knocked the wind and the anger out of Dean. They both laughed, and Dean struggled to remain upright under the weight of Adam’s slimy St. Bernard slobbers.

“All right. All right.” Dean patted his back. “Good to see you, too.”

John Winchester turned up his nose at the affection and sulked into the house. The screen door slam shocked my system like gunfire and woke up Eva.

As   lifted her squirming little body, she squeaked, “Mama?”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Adam ran to us and tried to wrench Eva from my arms. I twisted away, “No, Adam.” 

He whined and held out his arms for her. Did my mother let Adam hold Sprout? I couldn’t think of a worse idea.

“Hey. Hey, buddy,” Dean intervened, holding his brother back so I could escape into the house.

“Get my grandbaby in here and put something in her gullet.”

I sat Eva on the stack of books in front of a heap of scrambled eggs fit to fill a high school quarterback.

“Mom, she can’t eat all that.”

“Sam, hush and go wash your hands.”

“Seriously?” I straightened my spine. “I think I’m kind of an adult now, right?”

“You may be her daddy, but you’re always my baby.” 

My mother calling me that - Eva’s Daddy - reminded that I hadn’t decided what Eva should call me. I trundled off to do what I was told as John Winchester settled at the head of the table, rumbling under his breath like a storm cloud.

 


	56. Chapter 56

Dean’s boots thudded in the hall before his key clicked into the knob. My heart always leaped a little, although that was against the rules. Like every day, I trained my face to mimic indifference and didn’t look up when he entered.

The ruffle of hanging up his jacket. Keys jangling into its pocket. My breath bated for his, “Hey.”

“Hey.” I tossed it casually over my shoulder and placed another wooden block in Eva’s soft paw.

Dean hovered for a moment in the glow of our tiny one bedroom home: the ultrasonic calming mist of lavender and chamomile oils. Little Einsteins Bach or Mozart or whoever it was playing sweetly from my phone was shattered by the tumble of Eva’s tower and the whimper-cry before I helped her begin to stack them again. 

The spell was sufficiently broken for Dean to ask, “So, what did you girls do today?” 

“Let’s see. What did we do, E? We had steel-cut organic oatmeal for breakfast with regional peaches and goat milk. Then it was Child and Me yoga.” 

Before, during, and after which all the tiny brown nannies stared like I was visiting from Neptune. Why are these ladies always so small? 

“Then we had Music Together class,” I continued. “It wasn’t a good idea to double those up. I’ll change it next rotation.”

Dean sat on the sofa and loosened his boots. 

“We read a bunch, just now had some nice carrots which, apparently are not her favorite anymore, but are good for her eyes.” 

Dean grunted and tolerated the verbal diarrhea which had become epidemic after a full day of talking to only a baby.

“Say, ‘How was your day, Pop?’” 

Pop was Dean’s preferred title and Eva defaulted to calling me Sam, like her Pop did. She ignored my instruction in favor of piling another block precariously near the edge of the one beneath it. 

Dean knelt, clapped his hands and said, “Come here, kid.” 

She waddled to him and his smile melted into place as he lifted her into the air and kissed her hair. After they’d had their daily evening dance, Dean hoisted Eva onto his shoulders and said, “Sounds really great, Sam, just how are we paying for all this?” 

“Do you always have to be so crude?” 

Dean sat Eva back onto the floor. “Organic peas cost money. A whole new wardrobe costs money.” 

“It was just a few neutral things. All the Mills gave me was pink.” 

His count reached his ringless ring finger. “And the cloth diapers.” 

“Which are actually more cost efficient in the long run and better for her than the disposable ones.” 

“Fucking handmade blocks from Germany, Sam.” 

“Please don’t talk that way around her.” 

He wiped his face with both hands and took a deep breath. “Okay. Why can’t she play with Duplex like every other normal American kid?” 

“Are there any plastic toys in this house, Dean? Have you never heard of BPA?” I was wasting my breath trying to convince someone who survived on a diet of Big Macs and Big Bites. “You know what? I’m not going to try to explain this to you.” 

“Look, I know you don’t want to hear this,” Dean followed me to the kitchenette. “It’s too much like accepting defeat or something, but if we move back to Kansas--” 

I stopped slicing the apple and looked right at him. He carefully removed the paring knife from my hand and placed it on the counter. 

“You really want to live with your dad again?” I asked.

“No,” he snapped. “Of course not, but we could live near your mom. She could look after Squirt if you wanted to get out sometimes. You wouldn’t have to get a regular job, because I could cover everything out here.”

“No.” I brushed past him, taking the plate of slices with me. 

“Sam, This is not sustainable.” 

He wasn’t wrong, but I’d never admit that. I was doing everything my parents did right and adding some to that. The most important thing is that I was recycling none of their mistakes, even though my savings account was down to triple digits. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.” 

 

*******

 

I hadn’t spoken to Castiel since he’d announced we could pick up Eva. Parenthood was a good excuse to ignore incessant calls and for sending two-day delayed thumbs up in response to a barrage of texts. 

The room made me think of him, though. It was exactly what I would have expected from The Plaza hotel if it had ever crossed my mind. The door opened and a fusion of jasmine and vanilla drifted out to greet me. I leaned close to examine (but not touch, or breathe on) a crystal lamp. It might be made of diamonds, for all I knew. 

As requested, I’d arrived at 7, wandered around the penthouse, spent an inordinate amount of time at the window, basking in the priceless view of Central Park. 

The knock on the door sent a bright rush to my chest and face. I swallowed the tennis ball in my throat so I could take a deep, calming breath. I straightened my tie throat and carved on a smile. This guy had requested a delicate boy. Hence the suit. 

I’d almost certainly tower over him, but I could be bashful, and reserved, and sit at his feet, and make him forget my height. That last bit was Boomer’s idea. For the kind of money this man was paying, I’d crawl. 

On the other side of the door stood an attractive man with touches of grey at his temples and a bouquet of daisies.

“Hi, Andy.”

“Jason?” 

Of course, it was Jason, idiot. It wasn’t room service.

 He leaned close and my breath halted for a moment before I bent to accept the flowers and a gentle kiss to my cheek. His cologne was understated and familiar.

“May I come in?”

It must have been a joke; he was paying for the room.

“Yes. Of course.” 

I stepped out of the way and willed myself to keep breathing.

Jason hung his coat on a chair and sauntered to the bar. “Do you like the suite?”

“It’s incredible.”

He smiled and offered a glass of white wine.

“Oh. I’m 18.” 

I’d been using that line for years; it would actually be true in a couple of weeks.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

I accepted and sipped to be agreeable. Customer service. 

Jason, on the other hand, drained his glass and poured himself another before settling onto the espresso-brown Italian leather sofa. He loosened his tie and spread an arm across the back, patting an invitation.

I perched on the edge with a hand between my knees. He was hot. I hadn’t expected him to be hot. I’d expected some old, creepy octopus. I actually wanted this guy to touch me. And maybe fuck me, and maybe come on my face. 

“Mickey doesn’t make many recommendations,” Jason said, placing a hand on the center of my back. “But he knows me.”

Boomer didn’t know me, but he’d insisted that Jason and I would ‘get along.’

“I watched your scene and thought I’d like to know you.”

“In the biblical sense?”

“Absolutely,” Jason chuckled. “But also, you know, there's a freshness, and an honesty about you. It’s rare anywhere, but certainly in that business.” 

Did that mean he was in porn? Was he packing the same kind of heat as Boomer? Everyone knows the rumors about black guys, but it can’t be all of them, can it? I tried to sneak a peek at Jason’s crotch without being obvious, but his legs were crossed. If he was in porn, wasn’t he getting laid constantly? Why would he hire an escort? 

“I encounter an unimaginable amount of bullshit in my life, Andy,” he said. “When Mickey said you were the real deal, I needed to see for myself.”

I turned to face him. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Please do.” Jason finished his wine and sat the glass on the table.

“You're not what I expected.”

“That’s not a question, sweetheart.” He pinched my cheek.

“I mean, you’re handsome.”

“Thank you.” He tugged my braid.

“Charming.” 

But so were Dean, and my father, and even Castiel in his way. This man was nothing like any of them.

“Do you think so?” Jason smirked like he knew all the secrets I kept from myself.

“I mean, I can’t imagine you having a hard time meeting people.”

I’d always thought escorting was for socially awkward or otherwise unappealing guys. Even after Boomer assured me that I’d be pleased, I didn’t expect Robert Gere. Not that I was Julia Roberts, but Jason made me feel like a pretty girl, the way Dean used to. 

Richard Gere was a poor comparison. Physically, he had more in common with Will Smith, except for the height. He couldn’t have been taller than 5’5, but his skin tone, physique, those amazing lips, and even his voice were captivating in the same way. His easy manner was like a refined version of Dean’s: that natural warmth that radiates from southern boys and men who thrive outdoors.

“I have no difficulty getting laid, if that’s what you mean,” Jason said, his voice suddenly sharp as a winter wind. “I don’t know very many authentic people, Andy. I’m not even sure about myself sometimes.”

I blinked at the cryptic response.

He explained. “I have a zero tolerance policy for bullshit, but I’m surrounded by it constantly. When I meet someone real, it’s an oasis."

I nodded.

Was I real?

I hoped so. 

“I have a very public job and eclectic tastes,” Jason continued. “This kind of arrangement suits my lifestyle.”

He tugged on my earlobe. “Is Andy your real name?”

“No.”

“Are you in school?”

His hand wrapped around my neck and I shook my head, the heat rising in my chest like fear, with an echo flare in my crotch.

“Looks like there’s more to that story.”

I hesitated. “I’ve been thinking a lot about midwifery.”

“Brave. I like it.” Jason planted a hand on my knee. “You ever seen a birth?”

“I have. It’s insane. Mother Nature is a sadistic bitch, but it’s also a miracle.”

Jason laughed, and kept his toffee-colored eyes locked on mine.

“Shouldn’t we be talking about you?” I asked.

“Absolutely not.”

So, I talked. I spilled most of my beans on the floor: Eva, Dean, my mom and dad. The plan to transition and then not. My brief and sordid life story. 

By the end of the night, Jason had revealed that he was born in Tennessee. That was all I knew about him.

He’d only loosened both of our neckties and straddled my back to administer a painful, deep massage to my shoulders. I counted my cash and stuttered a protest at the unexpected $500 bonus.

Jason picked up his jacket. “That’s for the Not Really Andy midwifery fund.”

 

*******

 

As the subway train rattled over the tracks, my body was coiled tight with awareness of the wad of cash in my shoe and the other passengers. Once I reached our street, I relaxed enough to calculate that Jason’s tip meant I wouldn’t have to do this again for a couple of weeks. Unless I wanted to, which maybe I did. Especially if it meant getting laid. I was jerking off morning, noon, and night, avoiding Castiel, but needing someone. It was nice to be touched again, even if it was just a massage.

 

*******

 

Most of the music on Dean’s warbling tape collection was like beer - just barely bearable. But the first time I heard Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Little Wing, a supernova lit up my solar plexus.

The same feeling struck me at the sight of Eva sleeping on Dean’s shoulder as he danced her across our living room, whisper-singing along to the guitar. Slightly out of tune, and so perfect I eased the door shut with two hands and let everything beyond our plyboard and lead-paint paradise fade away.

I lived for that man and that girl and nothing else in the world.

Under the sensuous spell of the one dim lamp and timeless music, I snuggled close with a hand on Eva’s back and the other on Dean’s. He jumped like a cartoon character at the unannounced contact, took an eyeful of my suit but swallowed his opinion.

In fact, he didn’t say a word as he lay Eva in my arms, snatched his jacket off the back of the sofa and fled the apartment so quickly, I barely had time to adjust to the weight of carrying the baby alone.

Dean knew where I’d been, because I’d taken Boomer’s advice and kept no secrets. No more hiding since that cowardly mistake with Castiel. And as Dean reminded me every day, we were friends and roommates. There was no reason to lie.


	57. Chapter 57

 

I placed a hand on my knee to stop the heel from tapping. My lips were drawn tight enough to snap, although I tried to smile at the fifty-something, no-nonsense woman across the desk.

Celia Garza’s smile appeared genuine, but it was fleeting as she examined my transcripts. Finally, she capped her pen and said, “Tell me about your child. It must be difficult raising a little girl alone.”

“Yes, ma’am. It is.” 

And it was not what I was there to talk about.

Having Eva meant I didn’t have the time or luxury to break down over Dean’s return to Kansas. It meant that I needed to get my shit clear and take care of us. It wasn’t a surprise when he left. I’d tested and overstepped the boundaries of his commitment. Maybe I was trying to make him go. 

I was catching up to my dad’s million regrets. But I couldn’t go back and change anything. I could only sit in front of this woman and pray the eighth interview would be the charm. I just needed one CNM (Certified Nurse Midwife) somewhere to say yes. I’d taken the online training. Now, all I wanted was a chance to prove I could do the work.

My resume was fluffed up with  ‘Personal Training” where the escorting should be. Most of my clients were not like Jason. They were lonely horny men, half of whom talked my ear off and then fucked like it was an afterthought, or something expected of them. But they all paid, and I had no complaints.

Well, everyone has complaints.

I hadn’t slept properly since Dean left. I itched for his laughter and tuneless singing. I pulled the pillow over my face every morning and wished I could die, but the spells were briefer every day. And Eva never saw me cry.

The same day Dean drove off, Castiel started showing up at the apartment with flowers and diapers. My straits were dire enough that I accepted the useful gifts, thanked him, and closed the door.

I needed this job. If I was going to take my profile offline and actually do something I loved, I needed this woman to accept me. 

“You left this blank.” Mrs. Garza’s reached for a pen and began to circle the F. 

“Actually, I was assigned male.”

“Oh.” Her dark eyes narrow and swept over my face, leaving a warm trail in their wake. “Are you trans?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her head tilted as her gaze penetrated deeper. “Intersex?”

I’d never been tested, but my genitalia was pretty damn definitive. My penis simply wasn't the full story on my identity. 

“Please explain.”  She folded her hands over the folder and waited.

“I don’t identify more strongly with either gender.”

"So, why are you dressed like a woman?"

I glanced at my coral-colored blouse. It was one of my most beautiful, comfortable favorites. "I'm dressed like myself."

Mrs. Garza’s chin rose in comprehension or apprehension.

This was the first time that I declined to choose because leaving it blank was more honest. 

“Well, if you were assigned male, I’ll just put that.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

I needed the job, but I couldn’t shut up.

“So, are you looking to become a doula, because you want to be a woman?”

“No. No, ma’am,” I said.. “I’m here because I attended a birth and it changed my life, because childbirth is a miracle and I want to help make mothers feel more comfortable and confident.”

She looked at my resume and at my face. After a long deliberation, she slid the paper back across the desk. “I’m afraid you’re not right for this practice.”

 

*******

 

I dropped the bag of cans, hoisted Eva onto my hip and ripped the eviction notice from our door. One deep breath to keep from completely losing my shit before I banged on the landlord’s door.

“What is this? Mr. Cooper. I’m not late on my rent.” 

Dean and I had gone without electricity once or twice to keep the roof over our heads, but this made no sense. Eva and I had been eating beans for weeks, but rent would be covered. 

“Mr. Cooper.” 

The man didn’t even bother to open, but shouted from the other side, “Take it up with the super.” 

“But I’m not late.” 

He stopped answering, so I kicked the door. 

“Shit.” 

“Shit,” Eva echoed. 

I turned on the spot. I could not fall apart. Eva was in my arms. As badly as I wanted to, I couldn’t cry or scream. I clutched her head to my shoulder, breathing heavily. Silently, I prayed: Please. 

“Shit.”

 

*** 

 

Castiel reached into his pocket. I watched the barista take orders rather than meet his eyes. I’d only called him because I was desperate. My dad was out of the question. Even if Balthazar let us stay there, I’d refuse. My mother had her own problems. Raff and Gabe had already dubbed Eva hopelessly cute and unwelcome in the loft. It was no place for a kid, anyway. 

Someone had hacked my rentmen account, but there were still a few numbers on my phone. I just needed money to pay Eva’s babysitter while I met a client and earned money for our motel. Money money money. I was beginning to hate the word. 

Instead of what I’d asked to borrow, Castiel slid a ring box across the table. 

“Jesus Christ.” I shook my head, lifted Eva and stood to leave. 

“Sam.” His chair scraped the floor as he rushed to walk with me. "You don't have to change for me."

"Castiel. I don't want to get married. Ever." 

“The house looks amazing," he said. "There’s a little nursery for Eva. She’ll love it. You’ll love it.” 

He blocked the door with his body. 

“Get out of my way, Cas.” 

“Sam. I've done everything for you.” He spread his arms to prove he was harmless. 

The chill in my spine was the same as the day I encountered that timber rattler. 

I’d never asked Castiel how he got Eva, because I didn’t want to know. But over the months since she'd come home, my life had disintegrated with an almost engineered precision. We were homeless, my work account was hacked. Even all the interview rejections seemed too much to be coincidence. 

I didn't want to believe that Dean would accept money to leave me, but what reason did he have to stay? And was there anywhere the right amount of cash couldn’t reach? 

“Come on, Sam,” Castiel said. “We both know you have nowhere else to go.”

 


	58. Chapter 58

I sat cross-legged on the straw floor of a one-room hut and wiped sweat from my brow. Among other things, this was farewell to air conditioning. Particles of straw or hay (I never knew them apart) poked through the thin muslin pants and I shifted for a less itchy position. 

Brother Robert removed his sandals at the door. He stared until I plucked off the ones I’d been given and lined them neatly beside his shoes. The perpetually frowning, older man had been present at every meditation circle I attended. A spicy-warm fusion of body odor and incense lingered around him. His clothing was identical to mine and every other person on the compound: simple white tunic, loose-fitting slacks.

“Sam Campbell Cohen?” 

I nodded. He didn’t offer his hand, so I returned mine to my lap. 

“For all who seek asylum here, there is a week-long purification of mind, body, and soul during which you will fast from sustenance, as well as, human contact. You will feast on the Proclamations of our Elder Brother and be fulfilled. At the end of this time, he will decide whether you are permitted to stay.” 

His gruff manner was like my grandfather, Campbell. 

“Your little girl will be cared for by our Sisters.” 

That was the only rule that gave me doubt. I’d whispered to Eva that she would be safe and happy and she all but leaped into the arms of the woman who came to collect her. I subdued a twinge of envy at the easy turnover, but was grateful she didn’t make herself sick again? 

“She doesn’t have to— ” 

“No.” His lips quirked in an almost smile. “The purification is for adult supplicants.” 

I nodded again, wringing my clammy hands. 

“One other thing.” Brother Robert sat so that we were eye to eye. “The Elder Brother comes into the world to offer relief from the needless suffering so many endure through meditation." 

Relief was the word I’d have used. The Elder Brother’s mudras, and chants, and the meditation itself were an oxygen mask in the burning building of my life. But there comes a time when relief isn’t enough. It was time to flee the flames. 

“This is not a retreat center.” Brother Robert said. “Very few have come to join our Family since its inception. There are is an additional element of this teaching that you must understand before reading the Proclamations or vowing devotion.” 

I nodded and waited for him to continue. 

“Our Elder Brother is more than a spiritual leader. He is a direct channel for the modern teachings of all ascended masters.” 

I blinked. Direct channel? Ascended masters? 

“You’re familiar with Jesus, Mohammed, the Buddha?” 

“Of course.” 

“All those, and others, including shamans whose names time has forgotten. They  speak through our Elder Brother to bring new and clarified messages in the form of those Proclamations.” 

I glanced at the stack of books. 

Everyone I knew would have walked out of the place the moment Brother Robert said Jesus. Everyone I knew was a miserable wreck, including me.

I bit back the skepticism and nodded. It didn’t matter where the teachings came from if they lead to peace and truth. 

 

*******

  

After a few days of fasting, Hunger is replaced by a heightened focus. I dedicated mine to meditation and study of the Elder Brother’s Proclamations. 

An earthen jug of warm water appeared at my door each morning, though I never saw or heard the deliverer’s footsteps. I used a handful to wash the dust from my face. The rest, I rationed throughout the day to keep hydrated. 

Following Brother Robert’s instructions, I shat in holes near the wood fence perimeter, cleaned my ass with a rag and dropped that in before covering it with dirt. After a few sunrises, there was only urine to contend with. 

At first, every thought revolved around kissing Dean or killing Castiel. When either desire overtook me, I assumed the mudra and chanted _Om shanti shanti._  

On the second to last day of the purification, the Elder Brother entered. I knelt. 

“Stand up, Sam.” 

I didn’t feel appropriate to tower over him, so I sat on the floor. The Elder Brother removed his sandals and did the same. 

We sat in silence for what might have been an hour or half of the day. His closeness ignited electricity in my body that surged up my spine and pooled in my hands with energy to power a small city. 

I’d read every word of his Proclamations, and committed some to memory. I was in the presence of true greatness. Tears rolled under the glory of his attention. 

I closed my eyes, half expecting his voice to boom behind my third eye. When he finally spoke, it was in the usual way. 

“Why are you here, Sam?” 

"To follow you, Sir.” 

He shook his head. 

“To…” I searched the rough-hewn walls for the right answer. “To escape the ills of the world.” 

“No.” 

If I failed this test would I be forced to return to my dead-end life? I closed my eyes and there it was: “Peace. For peace.” 

The Elder Brother nodded. “Are you familiar with the term hijra, Sam?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Kothi?” 

None of these words were in the proclamations. I had studied. How was I failing? 

“Third gender?”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. 

I’d only ever spoken to the man once before, fewer than a dozen words. And though he had seen me at the meditation circles in the city, there was no way he could have gleaned anything meaningful about my personality from those brief, distant encounters. 

I’d arrived at the compound dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt, and flip-flops. During this visit, I wore the same formless uniform as the Elder Brother and all his disciples. But as every good designer knows, clothes are merely an extension of the person wearing them. 

I nodded, breath suddenly shaky. 

“I thought so,” he said. “Have you modified your body?” 

“No.” Should I have confessed that I’d considered it?

I'd even taken the pills? 

“Many cultures around the world recognize the existence of a third and fourth gender. Perhaps there are as many genders as there are individuals to perceive themselves on the continuum of femininity and masculinity. The bigger issue is that in many places, people like you dedicate their lives to sex. They make their living from copulation. They wallow in filth like pigs in shitty mud. Have you done this?” 

The curse word on such holy lips surprised me as much as his direct question. My body flushed warm. I ached for honesty, but the certainty that he’d send me away made me shake my head and pray a silent apology. 

“Good. Very good. One who has focused so much energy in the root chakra will struggle to find communion with the Most High,” he said. “You will reside with the Brothers, but there is to be no sexual contact between you. No sensual discussion. No masturbation. Aim to purge such contemplation from your mind.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

That was part of the Proclamation I’d memorized: 

 _For the flesh is weak and prone to dark desires that separate man from his Inner Guide. - P 3, Ch 3_  

My parents always claimed that sex was beautiful and special, but it had only ever brought me pain, confusion, and soiled money. Orgasms were great, but they weren’t worth the suffering. I wouldn’t be needing sex or money if the Family accepted me. 

The Elder Brother studied me for another long moment. “When I was a boy,  I was taught that gays and sissies were below regular boys. Born for ridicule and torture. Death even.” 

I swallowed thickly. 

“Now, I imagine this was because of the assumed inferiority of women. Why would anyone want to be a woman? They’re weaker emotionally, physically, intellectually.” 

Coming here was a mistake. I kept silent, a cold sweat broke out on my spine.

“But we don’t believe in that,” the Elder Brother said. 

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding gushed out of my mouth. 

“All are divine children, are we not?” 

“We are.” I barely managed to speak the words through the swell of relief. 

“Now, Sam. Promise me now, I’ll not regret this?” 

“You never will, sir. I swear.” 

 

***

 

As the sun rose the following sweltering dawn, I received goat’s milk instead of water to break my fast. I changed into an identical, clean habit of clothes. Then, a silent Brother led me to a clearing in the center of a small village of wood cabins.

The entire Family, nearly three dozen smiling adults and children, sat in a circle around a crackling bonfire. The woman who’d carried Eva to the nursery put her down and she toddled to my outstretched arms.

The earth rumbled and I searched the sky for lightning. Actually, two men were drumming a rhythm into my marrow. The women’s voices rang out a refrain of ‘Welcome Home.’ Eva danced on my knee. 

A woman stepped to the fire in the center of the circle and tossed in some herbs that gave the smoke a sweet, earthy fragrance. When the song was through, Brother Robert stood before me. I placed Eva on the ground, stood and repeated the oath: 

“I vow to serve my Elder Brother and this Family in Love, Peace, and Truth." 

We walked around the circle and touched foreheads with each member.   

Finally, the Elder Brother led me close enough for the flames to lick my face. He handed me a bundle of the clothing that Eva and I had worn onto the compound. On his wordless instruction, I tossed them in. The smoke darkened and rose, stinging my throat and creating an excuse for my tears. 

Castiel’s and Dean’s rings would be sold to benefit the Family. I whispered farewell to my temptation and my tormentor.

An older woman used a staff to raise kettle from the embers. She poured a steaming beverage into a handmade mug and placed into my hand. Someone began shaking a rattle. 

“Drink.” 

I looked at the Elder Brother, reluctant and concerned that the liquid would scald my mouth. Instead, it coated my tongue with a strange frigidity. 

 _I sank beside the fire and a grave dark fell over me. I rolled onto my side and let it engulf me like submerging in bathwater._  

_ No light, no sound save the beating of my overloud heart. My spine expanded and my limbs elongated until the atmosphere was stifling. To escape, I stretched and uncurled from my fetal pose and cracked open a shell that had hardened around me. Once it was broken, a sliver of grey/blue light dawned on my eye.   _

_ The Elder Brother floated above my head, held out his hand. I reached to him, levitating into the parting clouds. He touched my chest and painlessly tugged my heart from between my ribs. I swelled with delight as he swallowed it whole and I, in turn, devoured him. _


	59. Chapter 59

Pre-dawn Qi Gong and devotion led by our Elder Brother. 

Then the Brothers gathered at the picnic tables in our quarters and someone blessed the food that was delivered by twins, Alfie and Matthew. They were closer to my age than most of the Brothers. 

“So, they’re still children?” I asked.

Brother Robert dipped his unsalted rye loaf into the warm goat’s milk and explained, “Our boys become men once they prove their worth to the Family.” 

I wasn’t sure what value I could offer beyond my daily task of schlepping buckets from the river to the massive garden. Sister Ellen was a good deal older than my mother, so I may have expected an occasional smile or word of encouragement. She pointed out the rows and otherwise ignored me.

Around noon, a horn sounded, we all paused for silent meditation. Then, we worked again until the horn that invited all to meet in the long house for the evening meal. There was time to draw or read until evening devotion and bed. 

  

***

  

I lay propped on my pillow with Proclamations 4 open on my belly, doing my best impression of not impressed. Brothers Gordon and Richard were Dean Winchester and Stephen Miller all over again. 

Gordon was attractive, and obnoxiously proud of his most recent month-long stint into the World to shore up his already legendary hunting skills with professional marksmen. On the day he returned, I’d seen him slip a cell phone into his pocket and decided against snitching or asking to borrow it to check on my mom or randomly texting Dean.

The Sisters I worked with in the garden mentioned Gordon as often as girls in Oskaloosa High talked about Dean. Richard was his handsome, understated minion. 

It was wrong to be assessing these Brothers’ attractiveness or listening to their lurid jokes. I locked my eyes on the page I’d reread thirty times since Brother Gordon stood in the center of the room, cupping his chest to mime “late fall melons.” 

Brother Richard chuckled behind his hand. 

“Hey,” Brother Gordon shouted across the room. “Sam, have you seen that one? Sara O’Hanson. Isn’t that her name?” he asked. The chick in those films with the—-” 

“Scarlett Johannson,” I answered under my breath. 

He clapped his hands like I’d scored a touchdown. “Johannson. That’s it.” 

Then, he pointed at me. 

“How’s it going out there with the cabbages, Sam? What you need to do is quit playing in the dirt and come hunting with the big boys.” 

“He’s doing what the Elder Brother assigned him,” Brother Robert came to my rescue. 

“Well, I hope he doesn’t expect to any Sisters to choose him that way. Women don’t want bucket boys. They want warriors.” 

Brother Robert shook his head and sought refuge in the Proclamations, as well. 

Gordon stuffed a pair of pants down his shirt and switched up and down the row between our beds. 

“Do you want to knock it off?” Brother Robert growled. 

“I know you’re allergic to women, Bobby, but I’m going to finish my fucking story.” 

Brother Robert marched across the room and blew out the candelabra. “Then do it in the dark.” 

Moonlight fell on Brother Gordon’s back where he stood in the middle of the floor, glaring at Brother Robert. Eventually, he nodded and sat on his bed. 

Someone called out, “May Spirit bless your sleep.” 

Another said, “And yours.” 

Gordon whispered. “I’m telling you, Dick, this woman…” 

“Gordon!” 

Someone snickered, but the talking stopped.

 

***

  

Hours later, when the breathing had settled into a soft, rhythmic wind punctuated by a few geriatric snores, I stepped one, then the other foot onto the cool dirt floor. I tiptoed to the door and out into the balmy night. The oppressive humidity had subsided, but the night air was a warm welcome.

A night walk might exterminate the pesky urge to jerk off before sleep, like I’d done nearly every night as long as I could remember. 

I wandered to the garden and treated myself to a ripe fig. The act might be seen as hoarding and I whispered an apology to the Family and the Elder Brother. Then, I thanked the Spirit of the tree like we did before every meal. 

My mom used to buy figs from the co-op when I was a kid. We never had a single one in Kansas or in New York. It was a chewy, candy-sweet reminder of simpler times, even though I wasn’t supposed to think about anything outside of my new Home. 

But the calls and clicks of the night animals whisked me back to that night in the tent with Dean. Huddled up like a pair of sardines, telling stories. That forever kiss, his hands in my hair. 

Forbidden thoughts, more precious than sneaked fruit. I basked in them for a while. The glow of memory a direct contrast to the ache in my shoulders, arms, legs. 

The chief gardeners had heard of irrigation. However Proclamation 1, Ch 4 states: 

_To toil by hand and strive with the body allows the mind to commune with the Inner Guide._  

I strolled the square, chewed my fig and stopped at the children’s cabin. “I love you, Eva.” 

A whispered affection to my mother, my brother and one for Dean. One last bite, a final draft of clean, fresh air, and off to bed.

  

***

  

My place in the ceremonial circle was on the cold dirt floor between Brothers Richard and Robert. Neither generated much warmth. The older man elbowed me and I stopped rubbing my arms. It was the first time I was grateful for the rules prohibiting us from cutting our hair or shaving. My itchy beard kept some of the chill off my face. 

The Elder Brother led devotion and I tried to make my teeth quite chattering and learn the new song: something about bounty of the mother. 

It sounded like one of our harvest chants, but it must have been the dead of December. The Elder Brother tracked the time; there was no need for the rest of us to know more than the weather and dress accordingly. My cotton long underwear and second-hand overcoat failed to soothe my icy bones. 

Sister Ellen’s herbs scented the smoke with an unfamiliar flowery essence. She smudged yellow ochre between Sister Joanna’s eyebrows. Jo was a pretty blonde, a few years older than me. I looked to Brother Robert for explanation of the rite. He shook his head and shushed me. 

Sister Ellen guided Sister Jo to the Elder Brother. The younger woman knelt and accepted a thin veil over her face as all the women began to hum. Was she being presented as a sacrifice? 

He touched her belly and they exchanged a whisper. The Elder Brother, an elderly man of 65 or more, nodded and escorted her around the entire circle. When they halted in front of Brother Gordon he smirked before his face returned to a neutral solemnity. 

“Beloved Family, Our Sister Joanna, exalted by her fertile days, chooses co-creation with this Brother. Bear witness to this union of bodies and souls.” 

The others mumbled a ritual consent. 

There was a final song, the fire was extinguished. I jogged alongside Brother Robert with my delicate question behind my teeth. 

Many of the younger children had dark skin. I’d assumed they were fathered by our Elder Brother. But of the older generation, there were only two who could have been his children: Gordon and a Sister Cassie.                      

Sister Linda and her son, Kevin were clearly of Asian heritage. There were a few others whose background was less obvious, but the whole thing filled me with cat-killing curiosity. 

“The Elder brother is celibate,” Brother Robert explained after huffing his annoyance at my insolence. “He has been since the second month after we came Home.” 

 

***

  

I’d never received the green thaw of Spring with more vigor. The Family’s ceremony only made it more delightful. Garden workers passed the winter months in various apprenticeships. I’d been peeling an increasingly soft crop of potatoes in the kitchen. 

Now we were back to preparing the soil, planting bulbs, transplanting worms. A surge of bliss overtook me the first time my hands penetrated the cool soil and I planted my seed in the womb of Mother Earth. In turn, she would return my love and care with sustenance for my beloved Family. 

My admiration for the Elder Brother ascended as I contemplated chastity of mind and body. 

 

***

 

My gardening skills destroyed my clothes in no time. They went from snug, to tight, to ripped in multiple places. Brother Robert directed me to the Sisters for repairs. I asked the Sisters for needle and thread, or better yet a sewing machine and a bolt of muslin. Our uniform was easy to reproduce in an evening - in the proper size, since a cursory measure proved my shoulders, arms and torso were broader. 

“You know, Brothers don’t really sew,” Sister Ellen said. 

“Well, I sew.” 

That led me to an audience with Sister Charlie, a cute woman with a prominent overbite, who designed and engineered the tools the Family used. It so happened that she had begun work on a pedal-powered sewing machine for the only Sister with advanced knowledge of sewing. The project came to a halt when that woman had died in childbirth. Since then, the clothes were fashioned and repaired by hand.

I’d made a skirt on one of these for a history project my mother assigned back in the home-schooling days. She’d rented a machine from a local Colonial museum and I’d learned by watching YouTube videos. While I was working on it, I kept repeating to myself what a stupid waste of my time it was. 

“How long have you been out here?” I asked as Sister Charlie covered the prototype with a tarp. 

“Few years,” she said. “My wife heard the Elder Brother’s teachings first.”  

“Your wife?” 

“Well, you know.” She shrugged. “We were married in the world. Joanna is my Sister now.” 

Joanna had just offered herself to Brother Gordon in a fertility ritual.

“I know what you’re thinking.” 

I was thinking she must be a saint. 

“Jo always children and I always wanted her to have that. Five of those little rugrats are her doing.” 

“Wow.” 

“Well, you know, “ Charlie smiled. “All the children are all of our children.” 

“Of course.” 

“The only thing that’s kind of hard to watch is once they’re weaned and she has to give them up.” She began sharpening an ax. “I know it’s amazing for them to grow up belonging to a tribe rather than sitting alone in an apartment playing video games. But I grew up out there, like you. And some ideas die hard. The kids don’t know there’s another way. So, it’s fine for them.” 

“Yeah."

“All right, handsome. Been a blast. Now, get out.” She patted my arm and guided me toward the door. “Give me a month, I’ll have your machine done.”

 

***

 

The evening meal was always flavorless, but filling. The best part was that the entire Family ate together. Brother Frank tried to tell me something, but I only had eyes for Eva where she sat in a Sister’s lap. I wrapped a piece of meat in a roll and carried it to their table.

My little girl looked up, smiled, and reached for me. I put the food on the table and started to lift her. 

“It’s not a good idea, Brother Sam.”

In time, Eva would forget who I was and become everyone’s child. Kids are resilient that way. It’s what I signed us up for. None of these laughing, playing children knew their biological parents’ identity. 

The Sister holding Eva frowned at the food. “Eva’s got plenty to eat. You don’t need to worry about her.” 

I nodded and returned to my seat pretending not to feel the pull of everyone’s eyes. 

  
  



	60. Chapter 60

As hoped, my nightly walk cured the habit of abusing myself in the dark. I should clarify that I didn’t stop for some Brother would catch me. I did it to be pure as our leader. I longed for the kind of communion with Spirit that great man had. 

The night air was also perfect for thinking over my work, which by that time consisted of gardening, as well as teaching interested Sisters to make far improved clothes for everyone. Despite my reminders that many tailors are men, a few Brothers spoke out against me sewing. 

On the other hand, Sister Ellen had even begun using my name rather than grunting in my general direction. When the mood struck him, Brother Robert would tell me about the Family’s early days. 

On the night in question, before my foot landed on the bottom step of the Brothers’ cabin, a sharp cry pierced the dark and raised the hair on my neck.  

I ran toward the screams to a small cabin I hadn’t noticed before, but never thought twice about it. As I approached, the shrieks jolted up my spine. There was distress in the primal screeches that I’d only heard in cautionary videos - never in normal, healthy births. 

I hovered at the door, blood bubbling beneath my skin. It wasn’t my territory. Not my business. The sewing had caused a minor upheaval; I should go back to bed. 

Instead, I stuck my head through the door. By the dim candlelight, I could just make out Sister Joanna sitting in the corner, wailing while another Sister peered between her wide legs and yelled, “Push!” 

“Take her off her back.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Sister Linda’s head swiveled around. “What are you doing here! Get out!”

“Put her on her knees,” I said. “It’ll make it easier.”

“I mean it, Brother Sam. You don’t belong in here.” The tiny woman pushed me. “Go, or I will get the Elder Brother.”

I didn’t leave. Couldn’t. She did. Once she was gone, I knelt beside Sister Jo and asked permission to help her into a better position. Her face was drawn with agonized exhaustion, but she nodded. After the next contraction, we maneuvered her onto all fours. I rubbed her lower back through the trembling and tears.

By the time Sister Linda returned with the Elder Brother and two others, I’d slumped onto the floor with my back against the wall. The air was thick with the stink of copper and shit. My hands were blood-covered and the tang of an errant spray lingered on my tongue. But the squirming little one was happily latched onto its mother’s breast.

 

***

 

Sister Linda yelled her arguments before judge and jury: The Elder Brother and the adults in the Family, “He didn’t help. He violated the natural order.”

A few Sisters echoed her anger in murmurs, 'out of line’ and ‘inappropriate.’

After Brother Gordon declined his opportunity to speak, most of the other Brothers did the same. Brother Robert only pointed out that mother and child were healthy and that Sister Jo had named the baby Sam.

It was my turn to mount a defense, the hot pressure building in my chest.

“Is anyone here a trained nurse or doctor?”

“I’ve been attending births since before you were born,” Sister Linda shouted.

The Elder Brother calmed her with one raised hand.

I breathed between my fingers, collecting my thoughts and the facts I’d gleaned from Brother Robert. “Is it true that five Sisters and seven newborns died in childbirth the year before I arrived.”

“There is no Death, Brother Sam.”

“Yes, sir. Of course,” I said, acknowledging the Elder Brother’s teaching that all is eternal. “But wouldn’t it be better for those mothers to live than not?”

For once, there was no counter argument.

“Elder Brother, with all the respect in the universe, there isn’t anyone in this Family who is prepared to help a woman give birth.”

“Women don’t need help from some man.”

“You’re absolutely right. They don’t,” I said. “And yet, in the world, out there, most women are helped by men. 

Every woman here has been taught how to give birth by men.”

There was a moment of murmuring before the Elder Brother silenced them.

“Modern, western practices like placing the birthing mother on her back are done to make it easier for the attendant, who is usually a male obstetrician, to see. Not to benefit the person doing the actual delivering.”

Sister Linda’s face flickered from hate to bewilderment.

“Even for the older Sisters who’ve been out here from the beginning, you’ve seen countless images in film and TV of women in hospitals on their backs. It’s the worst possible position for childbirth,” I continued, heart racing as if my own survival was at stake. “I have studied countless female midwives who advocate freedom of movement, and that’s just for starters. Our Sisters don’t have the technological advances that are out there, but they have an opportunity to follow their own wisdom.”

The Elder Brother held up his hands to still the new wave of murmured conversation.

“Brother Sam, you are clearly passionate and informed. However it is nature’s way for women to suffer in the act of creation and at times to die,” he said. “If every Sister in this Family were to perish, that is for Spirit to decide." 

“Elder Brother,” I swallowed the ball of nerves in my throat. “With all due respect, Sir, maybe Spirit sent me here so that won’t have to be the case anymore.” 

He chuckled. “You take too much upon yourself. Leave the spiritual discernment to me and the childbearing to our Sisters.” 

I nodded my contrition, apologized and left the circle with my head bowed, chest hollow.

 

***

  

What followed was a trial by ice.

Often, I dreamed of being stranded on a glacier. I’d wake in a searing cold sweat, mind reeling from the isolation. 

It was no better by day. If Oskaloosa was Hell, Home turned into Purgatory as the rest of the Family treated me like a ghost. 

Sisters uttered a few words when necessary, but no one made eye contact. Among the Brothers, I was a complete pariah. They didn’t speak to me and gawk blankly when I addressed them. Sometimes I’d find Brother Robert staring, but he’d look away just as quickly. 

No one was cruel or violent. They simply shut me out. I’m not sure how long it went on that way. Weeks, months of solitary confinement within a crowd. 

On a crispy midnight that could have been Christmas, I wandered into the woods, sat in the snow and cried my stupid eyes out under a pine tree. How was Dean celebrating? My mother and Sprout? Did my dad and Balthazar celebrate? What the hell was I doing out here? I couldn’t go back into the world. Castiel was right; I didn’t belong anywhere 

Stumbling half-blind with ice clinging to my cheeks, I found myself at the edge of the frozen river. I stepped one foot, then the other onto the surface. Another step and a loud crack shouted a warning, or a welcome. Jagged lines stretched out from below my feet like lightning. Eva was in loving hands. My world family would never know. This Family wouldn’t care. 

“Why are you doing that?”

The girl on the shore couldn’t have been more than eleven. I’d seen her with the children but couldn’t recall her name.

“Go back up,” I said. 

“Are you trying to fall in?” 

“No, I… dropped something.” 

“Let me help you. I’m lighter.” She tripped out beside me, arms wide like she would fly if the ice went out from under her.

She skidded a few inches and the lightning bolts below us spread farther. A loud roar sounded up from the river and I dove back to the shore, tackling the kid to safety. We both rolled over and watched the ice floes where we’d been standing tilt and sink into the water. 

The little girl blinked and said, “Ow.” 

The foreign sound and sensation of laughter brought with them a fresh wave of sobs. The kid watched until my hysterics were had passed. 

“You okay?” 

A residual chuckle escaped at that. “No, not really.” 

“What’d you drop?” 

Another howl of laugher. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be that attached to anything.” 

Not even the fickle attention and acceptance of the others.

“You’re right,” I said. “Thank you.”

We sat, suspended in snow-blank silence. 

“What are you doing down here?” I finally asked. 

“You walk at night. Sometimes I do, too.” 

“You follow me?” 

She shrugged. “A lot of people are scared of you. I think you’re neat.” 

“Scared of me?” 

“You’re different,” the girl said. “And they’re all waiting to see what you’re going to do next.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re changing everything. That’s scary to some people.”

Kid wisdom.

“Are you scared of me?”

She shook her head. “When I was little, I used to be terrified about having babies. That it would hurt, and I would die. I’m not really anymore, since what Sister Tessa said you said. It doesn’t have to hurt at all, right?”

“Well…” I said. “You don’t have to think about that until you’re ready to become a mother." 

The corner of my mouth quirked and a warmth crested in my heart as I patted her full moon face. She’d just saved my life and I wasn’t so much thinking of the debt as of my daughter. 

“Do you know little Eva?” 

The girl nodded. Of course, she knew her. All the children slept and played together in their cabin with their honor guard of Sisters who wouldn’t let me within ten feet of my daughter. 

“She looks a lot like you,” the girl said. 

I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Do you know what Christmas is?” 

The girl shook her head. “Isn’t it something from the world?” 

“Yeah.” 

She made a skeptical face. 

“Not everything out there is awful.” 

My little savior considered that for a moment. 

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

“Claire.” 

“Thank you, Claire.” 

She nodded and said, “Brother Sam, can we go back now? I can’t feel my bottom.” 

 

***

 

Brother Gordon blocked the door with his hands on his hips. 

“Excuse me.” I waited for him to move and let me into the cabin. 

“This is the men’s cabin.” 

I hadn’t thought of myself as anything other than a male since the Elder Brother’s initial speech. I lived with the men, everyone addressed me as Brother. I felt no different from before, but that pronoun was useful to others who needed to lump people and things into neat categories. It made them feel safe and cost me nothing. 

“For months, I’ve stood by and watched this and I’m not anymore.” 

“This what, Gordon?” I rubbed my hand over my head, sighing with exhaustion appropriate to the hour and my recent flirtation with suicide. 

“You,” he said. “Sewing, lady doctoring. Even before that, I knew the way you move and talk is wrong. You’re some kind of …” 

Apparently, his visits to the world hadn’t been supplied him with a slur to match his mouth-frothing disgust. 

“There is nothing inherently feminine about sewing or caring for women and babies. Or caring at all,” I said. “Or maybe there is. You ever think, maybe, you’re repressing a side of you that wants to be like me?”

It was late and dark, but I should have seen the fist coming. I sure as hell felt it pound into my jaw.

"There’s nothing like you in me.”

Before I could jab his nose Brother Robert lunged between us. “That’ll do it. The Elder Brother doesn’t need to know about this, if you two can just be decent.” 

It was fifth-grade justice being lumped in with Gordon’s moronic behavior, same as I was suspended for Justin attack when I was a kid. Just like then, I nodded and offered to shake. Gordon spat on my hand and grinned as if he’d invented savagery.


	61. Chapter 61

I grinned up at the sunshine smiling on my face and bent to plucked a daffodil before I marched into the children’s cabin. My visits were such a regular thing that the Sisters had stopped trying to send me away.

High-pitched singing became squeals as kids barreled into me from all sides, hugging my legs before I could reach my goal. I patted every head and trudged on despite the adorable barnacles clinging to my ankles 

I finally knelt in front of Eva who’d only glanced up from her mudpie. “Hello, beautiful.” 

“Hi, Brother Sam.” 

A twinge sparked in my chest, but I smiled, tucked the flower behind her ear. As she tugged on my beard, Sister Linda removed the present. I was still satisfied. That sour-faced woman could take away, but never ungive that flower. 

“Another drawing lesson?” Linda asked as if accusing me of a crime. 

“With your permission.” 

I’d been apart from my little girl too much already. This was a way to respect the Elder Brother’s Family structure while being close to my baby. Sister Linda pursed her lips, but she instructed the children to collect sticks and continue their art lessons and draw in the dirt with me.

  

***

  

When Sister Amelia broke months of the silent treatment to ask whether I could make a dress, I didn’t inquire where she had gotten the simple Burgundy silk, or why she and the others had treated me so coldly for so long. 

I asked only one question, “Has the Elder Brother given permission?” 

She confirmed that he had and supplied a rudimentary drawing that took less than two hours to complete. 

The day I saw the dress in action was brutally hot, but not too sultry for feast and fire, song and incense. It was the first time I saw anybody in the Family wear anything other than white muslin. There was never a more adorable model than little Claire in the floor-length long-sleeved maroon muumuu and the matching headdress with her cornsilk plaits at each shoulder. 

The Sisters sang a wailing farewell and a quiet panic rushed at the idea of the little girl burned alive. If they’d tried it, I’d have leaped into the flames to save her. I owed Claire a mortal debt and she was a sweet kid.

The Elder Brother held Claire’s hand and walked her past each Sister. As she passed each Brother, I mirrored their reverent bows. Then she approached the fire alone and cast something in, although I couldn’t see what.

There was drumming and dancing for hours: Sisters in a circle dance, Brothers leaping and laughing while I stood on the sideline with the women and older men, since I’d not yet learned the moves. Finally, everyone joined in a line dance in which every Brother danced with every Sister.

When Claire’s tiny hand touched mine, she smiled. “Hello, Brother Sam.” 

“Hello, young lady.” 

I couldn’t have been prouder if she were Eva. 

  

*******

 

**There was a slight thaw after Claire’s ceremony. People didn’t outright ignore me anymore. They settled on whispers and stares that followed long after I'd passed.**

Then, without warning, I was on trial again, but this time I was unaware of my crime. I faced the circle, thumbs comforting one another while a wildfire of terror ravaged my chest. Was this it? Were they finally getting rid of me since I couldn’t find the courage to leave on my own?

The Elder Brother extended a hand for me to sit beside him. He held a cell phone.

“Before we begin, Brother Sam, is there anything on your heart?” 

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and said, “I love you, Elder brother. And I love this Family. Any offense on my part has been unintentional.”

The wind shifted and blew smoke from the fire pit into my eyes.

Our leader nodded and handed me the phone. My heart threw itself against my ribs as the title of a film flashed white letters against a black background:

She-male’s First Time.

I would’ve run but fear anchored me in place, boiling from the inside. Gordon maniac grinned at my anguish. He wanted me banished so badly that he’d hunted down my darkest moment and turned over his contraband phone to reveal this ugly truth about me. 

Mercifully, the Elder Brother only allowed the video to play to the point where Boomer and I started kissing. He sat the phone face down on the ground. 

“Is this you, Brother Sam?” 

The Family awaited my response. Had they all seen the video? Why had I endured months of the silence for this moment of humiliation? 

Claire’s face mirrored some of my anguish and I dropped my head into my hands, breathing heavy and deep. They all knew the filthy sinner I’d been. The Elder Brother saw what I was. 

What I was. 

“No, Elder Brother,” I answered. 

He tilted his head awaiting an explanation. 

“It’s not me, Elder Brother,” I said. “I’m no longer the same person I was before. I follow you, this teaching, Spirit, not my own physical gratification or desperation for money. There’s nothing left of that evil in me.” 

Did everybody hear that? I wasn’t a porn model or an escort anymore. My body and my heart were as pure as they’d ever be.

The Elder Brother nodded. “I’ll retire for a time to hear from Spirit whether there is still a place for you here.”

 

***

 

I lay on my cot, staring at the ceiling, awaiting the verdict. I shifted positions and there was a strange rustling in my pillowcase. Something stiff was inside. 

A ‘present’ from that asshole Gordon? 

Whatever it was, I had to deal. So I sat up and pulled out a magazine. Worldly media of any kind was not allowed, but certainly not Unzipped. My heart went into overdrive. Real past sins weren’t enough. That animal was trying to frame me in the present. 

Luckily, I was alone in the cabin. I rolled up the mag and tucked it into the elastic of my pants. I could make it to the ceremonial fire, pretend to be in penitent prayer and drop it in. Then, I’d find Gordon and choke the life out of him. 

As I rushed from the cabin, I bumped headlong into Brother Frank. He was a quiet, stuttering older man who’d followed the Elder Brother Home around the same time as Brother Robert. The yellows of his eyes bulged behind thick glasses that were bound in three places. He gripped my arms as if to steady me and flashed a decaying smile. 

The paper clung to the sweat at the small of my back. 

Brother Frank leaned close and whispered. “Did you see it?” 

Instinctively, I cringed from the stench of his breath. There was no soap; we all smelled like human animals. But there was a pungency that oozed from some unwashed bodies. 

“Did you like it?” He gripped my arm. “It’s an older issue, but I thought…”

Brother Frank licked his lip as his feeble hand squeezed my bicep. 

“You’ve grown since you’ve been here. Taller and broader.”

I extricated my arm and stepped back. 

“I knew it right away. The first time I saw you,” he said. “That we’re plagued by the same demon.” 

If I followed him into the cabin, who knew what other confessions or assumptions he’d make. 

“I’ve been here 29 years, Sam. It’s been rare that I’ve had someone to lean on. Someone with the same struggle.” 

I took a breath and closed my eyes. They popped open again when Brother Frank touched my face. The instinct to slap his hand away and run was replaced by an unanticipated calm. I took his hand and led him to a bench beneath a tree where the sun and curious eyes couldn’t beat down on us. 

Shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped, Brother Frank bowed his head as the words spilled from my mouth. 

“You are a perfect, beautiful person and there’s nothing wrong with you,” I said. “Nothing wrong about desiring men.” 

Nothing wrong about desiring a woman. Was it possible that there was no shame in desire? No sin in sex? 

Brother Frank clung to me, fat tears rolling off his chin and disappearing into the fabric of my sleeve. When he’d pulled himself together, I tapped my fist against the man’s chin as if I were the older brother. Then I handed him his magazine. 

He wiped the streams from his face. “I should burn it?” 

“That’s up to you, I think.” 

As he crossed the square, I hardly had time to revel or contemplate what had happened when Gordon skulked up behind me and asked, “What are you ladies talking about?” 

“What do you want?”

The caveman tossed a bow at my feet. 

“Elder Brother wants me to teach you to hunt.” 

I picked up the bow and he shoved a quiver of arrows into my chest. 

“Now?” 

“You got somewhere else to be?”

The rest of the Family was bustling about their daily chores while I made my atonement. Time alone with Gordon was worse torture than the devil deserved, but I followed the jackass into the woods. 

Was this supposed to toughen me up, or build impossible camaraderie between us?

We marched wordlessly for hours, Gordon in fatigues and sturdy hiking boots while I was dressed in the Family’s customary white muslin and sandals. As I tracked the sun across the sky, Gordon stopped every so often, sniffing leaves and touching the ground.

Eventually, he stalked ahead of me and disappeared behind a thicket. Without warning, an arrow whistled through the air. Gordon hooted and broke from the foliage, tromping across the clearing until he came to a triumphant stop with hands on his hips.

When I finally caught up, he was grinning over a young doe. She panted her final breaths through the arrow jutting from her side.

“What do you think of that, Sister Sam?”

“She’s still alive.” 

“Not for long.” 

“Gordon, would you please finish her?” 

“I was waiting for you.” He shoved a large knife at me. “Slit her throat. Or let her suffer.” 

I knelt and ran my hand over the deer’s soft, warm belly, careful not to touch too near the wounded spot. 

Was this the Elder Brother’s design? To force me into some immortal fraternity of destroyers? I tried not to panic, lose my shit or run away, all of which would be better than hurting an animal. 

Gordon laughed at the horrified look on my face.

“It’s all right, girl,” I whispered, tears rolling. “It’ll be over in a minute.” 

Gordon scoffed. With another knife, he stabbed her in the eye, in the skull, in the neck. The hot blood spurted over my face and clothes. I crab-walked backward from his savage laughter. 

“Why? Why would you…” 

Gordon mocked my stuttering words and swiftly slit the deer’s throat. 

My back hit a tree and I wiped the crimson slime from my face. Still, blood dripped from my fingers and caught in my beard. I struggled to regain composure while Gordon stood, watching me with amusement distorting his features. 

“Now, you listen up,” he said. “You got three choices: leave, fall in line, or suffer.”

He paced, twirling the knife as he spoke. “Soon, that old man up there is going to die. Then the Spirit is going to choose me as the next leader. And I am going to sell every last acre and move this outfit to Vegas. You ever been to Vegas, Sam?”

I used the tree to help me stand.

“When that happens, the females are mine. And I’ll cut off anyone’s dick who thinks about touching them.”

There was no way the Elder Brother, Spirit or anybody else would choose this brute to lead.

“Know what I think?” Gordon stalked near and I backed away. “Ever since I saw that video, I’m thinking you’d be one hell of a concubine.”

He backed me against the trunk and tugged on my ear. I shoved his hand and walked away, back in the direction I hoped to find Home.

Gordon shouted, “Fuck you til you can’t see straight, she-male.”

I gave him the finger over my shoulder and he pounced like a lion, grabbing my wrist and twisting my arm behind my back, clasping my throat. He reeked of sweat and blood. 

“Get off of me, Gordon." 

He pressed himself against my ass. “Quit fighting it, Sam. You know you like it.” 

I jutted my hip back in an attempt to through off his balance. I only won a few inches; his grip was too sure. 

Twenty yards away, a shadow moved like my grandfather, Campbell. 

I swept back my leg, hooked my attacker’s ankle. My intention had been to knock him to the ground. It didn’t work, but I broke free and took a sturdy, wide-legged boxer’s stance. Gordon cackled, but raised his fists. We circled each other, appraising the best offense. I was half a foot taller, but he was heavier and ruthless. I had to get that knife or I didn’t have a chance. So, I kicked at his wrist, and he gashed my calf. 

Gasping, I fell to a knee.

Gordon sliced again, splitting the front of my shirt as well as the skin beneath it. 

"Oops,” he laughed. “Guess you’ll have to sew that up, won’t you?” 

While I examined the depth of my wounds, he charged and knocked me to my back, pinning my right wrist above my head. I angled to punch and he let out a feral yell, stabbing through the center of my hand. By some miracle, the dull pain barely registered. Still, my defense faltered as Gordon’s fists rained on my face until his image and the woods began to flicker. 

“Now, you going to be sweet, or am I going to have to hurt you?”

“Fuck you,” I said, my voice raspy and distant.

He kissed my cheek. Then, he took a bite and grinned with my blood staining his teeth. Straddling my legs, he restrained my left wrist at my side and sat upright, loosening his belt. 

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

When I opened my eyes, Brother Robert was wrapping my hand in a strip of his shirt. There was a bloody stone by one foot and a heap of man by the other. 

"What’s your name?” he asked. 

Every cell in my body hurt, but I shook enough fog from my head to answer, “Um, Sam. Sam Campbell Cohen.” 

“Your true name.” 

“It’s just Sam.”

“Are you or are you not the reincarnation of Ardhanarishvara?” 

“What?” 

I blinked and tried to sit up, but my head spun, or the world spun, or both. 

“Is it possible to be deity and not know?” 

“I’m sorry,” I said, entire body engulfed in hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

I should be worrying where Gordon was, but my eyes slipped shut. 

“The Elder Brother’s prophecy states that at the end of his days, another even greater guide would rise up, take his place, and change many things,” Brother Robert explained. “There’s been speculation who it would be and when.” 

I heard his words, but the syllables were meaningless. 

“When we came out here, Gordon was only three, but we all expected he would be the next leader. But he’s spent too much time in the world and hasn’t truly embraced his father’s teaching. However,” he said. “Gods and angels have walked among humanity since before recorded history. Ardhanarishvara is The Lord whose half is woman. A god whose very existence teaches that true totality lies beyond duality. There are many among us who believe that is your true identity.” 

There was no way to respond, so I didn’t try. 

“The Elder Brother is a great man, but he is only a man. It’s very difficult for a man to see past the idea of his son as heir.” 

“Wait, so are you saying…” I groaned and forced myself to sit up. “The Elder Brother wanted Gordon to kill me? Is that why he sent us out here?   


“He didn’t send you out here. That was Gordon’s idea. I let the thing go on longer than I should have, I guess because I was waiting for you to zap him.”

“Zap him? Seriously?”

Brother Robert shrugged. “Would have been simpler.” 

“I’m not… Whatever you said. I’m not that.”

“Doesn’t really matter. People just want someone to follow. I can help you lead like I’ve helped Rufus.”

Gordon was the natural heir, a natural leader, and a natural asshole. If he ascended, I would leave.

But me, as leader was nonsense.

“Does Gordon know about this?” I asked. 

“I’ve tried to keep it hush, but it’s safe to assume he got wind. I didn’t want him or Rufus to know until I had a critical mass behind you.” 

I took a deep breath and struggled to my feet, accepting Brother Robert’s help. “No one else calls the Elder Brother by his name.” 

“I’ve known that man since we were in high school.” 

“And you still believe he’s holy?” 

“Oh, I know it,” he said. “He’s holy and he’s fallible. I’ve seen miracles and mistakes. When he goes, somebody’s got to lead this Family or we fall apart. I told them to give you a wide berth and let the Spirit unfold things in its own way. But many are ready to follow.” 

“Follow where?” It was too much crazy to fit inside my pounding skull. “Where’s Gordon?”

Brother Bobby pointed at a clump a few yards away. He picked up the knife and I took it without thinking. Clutching my stinging chest, I limped over to Gordon’s body.

“If you end him now,” Brother Robert whispered in my ear and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Your ascension will be uncontested  and we will follow you to the end.”

  

*******

  

I sat cross-legged on the dirt, studying the other faces in the ceremonial circle. Brother Robert stood and read from the Proclamations. Sister Ellen cast the fresh, flowery herb into the flame and smudged yellow ochre onto Claire’s forehead before the little girl bowed before the Elder Brother for her veil. 

“Isn’t this the fertility rite?” 

Brother Robert nodded silently and bowed his head like the rest of the Brothers. 

Claire was twelve. Thirteen, tops. Would someone actually go to bed with her?

As all the women began to hum, he touched her belly and they exchanged a quiet word. He nodded, held her hand and walked around the entire circle, finally coming to a halt in front of me. 

“What?” 

I searched their faces. This couldn’t be real. It was a continuation of some nightmare. 

“Family, Our Sister Claire is in her fertile days and chooses co-creation with this Brother. Bear witness to this union of bodies and souls.” 

The others mumbled their agreement. I yanked my hand from Claire. She squinted up at me and cocked her head like a little puppy. 

“Are your wounds not sufficiently healed to serve this Sister?” The Elder Brother, Rufus Turner, mere mortal asked. 

“My…” 

My right hand still ached constantly, but the gash in my leg had healed nicely despite the only treatment either received was a hefty dose of prayer. Gordon was still in convalescence from the bashing Brother Robert gave his head. If he lived, he’d never be the same. 

“Brother Sam?” Claire whispered. 

I searched the circle for a single sane face. When I found none, I took Claire’s hand and led her away. 

 

*******  

 

“Is something wrong, Brother Sam?” 

I stopped pacing and blew out a loud breath, then whispered. “Claire, we need to leave.” 

“Leave?” 

“Yeah. Do you have … anything?” 

All I needed was Eva. Then I’d have to get us down the mountain, and take care of two little girls. But I’d figure it out. 

Claire reached up and touched my head. “Are you feverish again?” 

“No.” I caught her hand. “I’m fine. We just need to get out of here.” 

“This is my family. It’s your family.” 

I shook my head. 

“Listen, I was scared about it, too, but I’m ready now. I want to with you,” she said, gazing up at me. 

“Claire, you have no idea what you’re saying.” 

“I could choose any Brother I wanted and I chose you because you’re strong and kind and beautiful and humble. You’re not like anyone else. If I can have a child like you, it would be a blessing to this whole Family." 

I sat on the side of the freshly made bed in the solitary cabin, wringing my hands.

“You know, this is Illegal, in the world, because of your age. And mine.” 

“I don’t care,” she said. “The laws of the world don’t apply here.” 

“I… Claire, I could break you. Literally.”

“Sister Jo said it hurts the first time, and that I might bleed, but that’s okay, because the Spirit moves in blood.” Claire sat beside me and put a calming hand on my knee. “I trust you, more than anyone else.” 

I scratched my cheek and crossed to the window, cracking it to let some fresh air into what suddenly felt like a coffin.    

“Brother Sam?” 

This kid barely came up to my chest. She had pink lips, small breasts and tiny hands that were folded politely over her little girl’s belly. 

There was still time to flee. 

“Have you ever co-created before?” Claire asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Just tell me what to do.” 

 

***

 

I could never tell the twins apart. When Alfred or Matthew led me to the Elder Brother’s quarters, it was only the third time in as many years that I’d been blessed with a private audience, but I knew the ritual to prepare myself. I made ablutions in a small bowl of water at the door, breathed deeply until I felt my mind purified, and entered.

The Elder Brother already sat crossed legged at a small table with tea service for one.

“Have a seat, Sam.”

I bowed and obeyed, sitting across from him.

“I’ll get right to it. You’ve ruined Sister Claire.” 

The accusation struck like a bullet. “That was the opposite of my intention, Sir." 

“Is it true that you gave her instructions on how to pleasure herself and left the room?” 

There was no point denying it. I’d asked Claire to keep the details to herself, but apparently that advice didn't take. 

“If her mind is on earthly pleasure, how will she ever know union with God? Physical pain would have been better for her.” 

I fought for my next breath. 

“Wanton. Sinful.” the old man shook his head. “And these false prophecies you’ve been putting into Bobby’s head…”   


He stared until I lowered my head with false shame. When I raised my eyes again, it was to search his dark anger for a glimmer of the truth and wisdom I’d seen there so many times before. 

“You need to purify your mind.” 

I nodded. 

“You will drink and dream. Then, you will spend a month in the solitude and silence. Upon your return to the Family, you will publicly apologize to Claire for the evil you’ve brought upon her young soul. And she will atone for the smut she’s been teaching the other Sisters.” 

I breathed in the steam and drank. 

He hissed. “Should be poisoned after what you did to my son.” 

My eyes widen, but this drink was familiar. Strange cold coated my tongue, melted the walls and my master.

_Everything fades to sticky, stinking tar that bubbles up from the inside, seeping through and hardening on my skin. Squeezing, compressing, reducing me to nothing._  

_ No place. _

_ No one. _

_ No up/down, left/ right, right/wrong, male/female  _

_ Then the nothing shifts and I divide into divine me/not-me _

_ I behold Elder Brother as my mirror image and consume his holiness, wisdom, acceptance, and condemnation.  _

_ In a wink, he is Gordon, Claire, Robert, Frank, Linda, Jason, The Mills, Eva, Boomer, Balthazar, Raff, Gabe, Eddie, Ruby, Castiel, Abby, Dean, Campbell, that trucker who spat in my face, Mrs. Stephens, Justin Ostmeir, my father, my mother  _

_ Every one of them seeing only their own reflection.  _

_ I look to them and see  _ _ son, sex toy, freak, fiend, friend, lover, warrior, failure, father, seeker, sinner, devil, deity _

_ I exhale white-hot flame and disintegrate the liars and the lies _


	63. Chapter 63

The woman who answered the door wasn’t my mirror image. She was taller than me with long dark hair and legs to her chin. Her perfume made me sneeze. Smells and sounds that had once been familiar were overwhelming. I was relearning the world.

My twin’s eyes popped open and she shouted over her shoulder for Castiel. Evidently alarmed by the urgency in her voice, he ran toward us.

“What is it, ba —“ 

Castiel stopped. His hair was shorter; he’d gained a few pounds. A lot more had changed about me, and even more about Eva who held my hand and glanced between us. Castiel laughed out loud and nearly knocked me backward down the steps with his arms around my neck. 

 

***

  

I sat on the antique sofa with a table separating me from Castiel. Nevaeh poured him another glass of wine and refilled my tea while Eva played with their schnauzer, Sal, by the fireplace. 

“Look, I didn’t want to put you out or anything…” 

Castiel shook his head. “Are you kidding?” 

His wife perched on the arm of the sofa, holding his hand like they were posing for a portrait. 

“I couldn’t get through to my mother or father,” I said. “So, I called Dean and he asked me to meet him here. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” 

Castiel covered his mouth and then excused himself. 

Nevaeh slid into his place. “They thought you were dead. Well, Cassie did. I mean, he wasted so much money look for you. There’s still PIs out there now because Dean wouldn’t let him drop it.”

“You know Dean?” 

“Of course.” She crossed her leg and picked up Castiel’s glass. “His little boy is our godson.” 

I suppressed the twinge. I’d been gone three years. Did I expect time to stand still and everything to remain the same? I nodded and sipped my tea. 

Did Dean’s wife look like me, too? Would that be a comfort? 

Castiel returned, sat a box of tissues in the middle of the table and blew his nose. 

“Your little girl is beautiful,” Nevaeh said. “You’re very lucky.”

 “Thank you.” I snickered at the kid and puppy tumble. “You’re right. I am.” 

“Sam,” Castiel broke the spell. “You and Nev are about the same size, although you’ve bulked up a lot. But you’re welcome to anything in her closet. Anything at all.” 

Nevaeh looked as if Castiel had fed me her tongue.

“Thank you,” I said. “Both of you.” 

“You’ll excuse me.” Nevaeh’s heels clicked across the hardwood as she left the room. 

“She’s lovely.” 

“Yeah. She’s perfect.” Castiel gazed in the direction his wife had disappeared. “Got her orchiotomy right out of high school. It’s the only thing she regrets.” 

I had a feeling Nevaeh would have been less than pleased with Cas sharing that information. 

“If her wardrobe’s not quite right for you, I can take you shopping or give you a card,” he said. “Whatever you want.” 

I glanced out of the window and sighed, searching for the right response. “You know, Castiel. There are a few things I wish I’d done differently.” 

“There are about a hundred million things I should have done differently, Sam.” 

I tried to resist, but the question was burning a hole in my heart. “Cas, did you pay Dean to leave me?” 

He blinked rapidly and sat down his glass. “No.” 

I exhaled. 

“He wouldn’t take it,” Castiel said. “But I did tell him that you and Eva would be better off with me than in that rat-infested shithole. I stand by that, and there were never any hard feelings between us. We’re close now, since your, since you… God.” 

I covered my mouth until the wave of anger and regret mellowed back into the forgiveness I’d worked years to cultivate. “I never properly thanked you, Castiel, for bringing Eva home.” 

“I’d still do anything for you, Sam.” 

“Don’t.” I huffed. “Please. Just… You’ve done enough.”

  

***

  

Gabe hugged me forever, and Raphael hugged me for the first time. I gave them the abbreviated version of my pilgrimage. They brought me up to date on their work and Ruby’s Broadway successes. Raff offered me some behind the scenes work on his next show.

When I asked about my dad, they explained that Raphael had taken it upon himself to divulge about Balthazar’s misdeeds. Those two split up and after the investigation removed them both from the suspect list in my disappearance, my dad left for Hong Kong. 

“We’re glad you’re safe, Sam.” Gabe placed a sandwich in front of Eva. “But what the hell are you wearing?” 

 

***

  

I stopped every so often to shake the stiffness out of my right hand, but sewing has always been therapy for me. Like drawing, and meditation, and running, and playing with Eva - things that put me in touch with my inner Spirit. 

Like Dean Winchester standing on a front porch, watching his little boy chase Eva chase three dogs: Sal and a pair of big mutts. 

Dean’s son was a gorgeous tan child with dark hair that flopped into his eyes. 

It was a shame to disturb the scene, but I paid the cabbie and stepped onto the curb. Dean walked at first, then he sprang into a jog until we were standing toe to toe. No change. Still perfect.

He squinted at my face, started to speak, then turned to stare at a tree. I was taller, broader, beardier. It couldn't have been easy.

Finally, his mouth curled into that cheeky grin. “Guess I can’t call you little girl anymore.”

I chuckled. “You could.”  

Dean covered his mouth, bowed his head and wiped his eye. Then he wrapped a hand around my neck and drew me down into his arms. 

“I knew it, you know,” he mumbled. “Kept telling them you weren’t… There wasn’t no way I could keep breathing if you weren’t in the world.” 

When he let me go, I balled my fists to keep from clasping, kissing, swearing I’d never stopped loving him. To curb the madness, I turned to the kids.

“So, your wife?” 

I braced myself to bear every detail. He’d show me pictures. I would smile. Maybe she’d stayed home because she was pregnant with number two. My heart sank and then rebounded. She must be wonderful and Dean must be so happy.  

“Wife?” he asked. 

It wasn't like him to have a child out of wedlock, but I'd get the full story later. 

Dean called out and motioned for his son to join us. “Jay, say hi.”

Jay looked up at me and cocked his head. “Hi, Sam. Are you a boy or a girl?”

Dean tapped the back of his head. 

I laughed and knelt before the little guy and asked, “Does it matter?” 

That’s when I saw John Winchester's broad mouth and my mother's mid-day blue eyes. I looked up at Dean for confirmation. He smiled and nodded.

An ugly snort of laughter burst from my mouth. “John?”

My little brother turned up his nose. “Nobody calls me John.” 

“Jay,” I whispered. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” 

Jay-John Jr.-Sprout sought Dean’s approval. I whisked him up and squeezed the juice out of him.

“All right, scoot, rugrat.”

I waited until Jay was back with Eva before I asked, “Dean, where’s my mom?”

The way he sighed and lowered his head said more than I wanted to hear.

“Let’s have a seat.”

I followed him to a bench under an oak and listened to the forensics report.

John Winchester struck my mother. Shots were fired. Both were wounded. One of them, likely John, set fire to the house. The rest is even hazier, but it appeared that Adam took the baby outside and lay him in the grass. He went back into the house, presumably to rescue my mother, but he perished in the blaze, along with our parents.

I focused on my breath. 

I’d known when I couldn’t reach her that something had changed. When Dean wouldn’t tell me over the phone. When Castiel avoided the topic.  

I closed my eyes and my mother was standing before me as plainly as if she was Sprout. Or me. She wasn’t dead. There is no death.

Maybe there would be a breakdown in the future. Some deep and proper mourning. Some soul-aching guilt that if I had only been there

In that moment, though, reality was a haze.

“There wasn’t a day,” Dean said. “When I didn’t curse myself for leaving. I swear, I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

How would it have been if he had stayed? Or if I had married Castiel? In either case, I wouldn’t be the same person.

"I missed you."

Dean curled his fingers in my hair, drew me close and kissed me, slow and easy, like the first time.

Castiel, Nevaeh and Eva clapped. Sprout held a hand over his eyes, but peeked through the fingers.

I leaned back and touched my burning lips. “Dean, we don’t know each other anymore.”

“Yeah, we do,” he said. “We’re always going to know each other. One way or the other, it’s me and you for life, Sam."

I nodded and reveled in the warmth stirring in the pit of my belly. 

“ I don’t even want to let you out of my sight," he said. "Though, I wouldn’t mind if you lose the beard.” 

I stroked the soft fur on my cheek.

Before my shower at Gabe and Raff’s, I’d studied the stranger in the mirror until the steam fogged up the glass. Then I’d wiped it clear and stared some more. Shaving and cutting of the hair was forbidden in the Family. This was the last remaining souvenir of my time on the mountain. 

I’d trimmed it close for less of a ZZ Top effect, and tied back my hair.

A beard wasn’t an organ or some vital part of my anatomy. The only thing keeping me from shaving was that I liked it.

“Maybe I will at some point, but not right now.” 

Dean searched the street and nodded. “Fine, when are we going home?”

 I curled my hand around his and said, "Whenever you're ready."

  


 

 

 

THE END


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